Girls or gallantry

The girls in my poem share the same saga of life,

but sing it in different tunes.

Their skins are the crayons of various shades,

but their shadows call each other beautiful.

They are not the statues of opinions that other people build,

they are the mountains of individuality that God has created.

The twinkles in their eyes are revolutions

that can evolve one’s perspective

and their tears are courageous soldiers

who never walk back.

Sometimes their lips are the stories of silence and sometimes the poetries which never end.

Hormones march barefooted on their faces

And the world mistook their footprints as pimples.

Their faces engrave stories so deep, just like the ocean.

But their smiles always free float without dipping into the abyss.

Sometimes their tresses seem wavy like clouds in the sky

and sometimes straight like rays of Sun

Sometimes a night clads their tresses

and sometimes a sunrise settles there.

They aren’t the breasts underneath their kurtis which make them look attractive,

but underneath their breasts, they have hearts that make them attractive

that only a few dare to discover.

Their bodies are not prey for manhood,

but they are the shrines of sanctity where the world prays for a future.

Sometimes their minds become homes for monsters of mischief and sometimes for saints of innocence.

For them, walls of social norms grow taller each day a little more.

But the trophies of appreciation for their patience, passion & sacrifice become smaller each day a little more.

They all are equally pretty in their own ways

But truth is that your eyes hold the cobwebs of comparison

Your sugarcoated compliments aren’t their necessity when mirrors smile at them

All they need

All they crave badly

is to be understood

by me, by you, by the society, by the world.

I can’t conclude what to call them

Queens or reign

Fighters or struggle

Wizards or magic

Goddesses or apocalypse

Girls or gallantry!

©ruchiabhisikta