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!