Sonali Pattnaikhow dare they
tell her what she may be
born, dead or un-free
how dare they
tell her not to whistle
or how her mouth curls sexily
as she speaks of freedom
from their bottled notions of beauty
how dare they tell her
what shape her breasts
with which she fed her daughter
fondled in pleasure and held in pain
must and can be
how dare they tell her what to wear
and where and how on her body
to wear it- the cloth must go
over the bottom, not her head,
the legs must go through the holes
and the denim must be tight
here or not just there
how dare they tell her
where she must sit and with whom
and for how long
how dare they tell her
just as she raises a foot
there is a threshold that she must not cross
how dare they draw a line before her
and lie to her about the fact
that her body, her needs, her screams
of joys or rage to her alone belong
how dare they modulate her pitch
with a ‘whore’, ‘crazy’ or ‘bitch’
how dare they not acknowledge
the truth that what they think
is their right is a plain wrong
how dare they not know
it is not their place
to tell her about her place
anywhere and everywhere
is hers to stand upon
how dare they teach her
that it is ok for them
to touch, lean, grab, interrupt,
ogle, explain, insert, thrust,
cut, sidle up, sell, threaten,
brush against, tear, pierce, dismiss,
lock up, push, patronize, reduce, rape,
or take what is not theirs- never theirs
but hers and hers alone
how dare they mask it as
‘respect’, ‘tradition’, ‘culture’
when it is hate, colonization, murder
and burglary in plain sight
how dare they make her fight
for what ought to be
as taken for granted as
the air we breathe to survive
how dare they pretend to not know
when their every act of depravity shows
that they are afraid that the end
to the war on women
called patriarchy, is in sight
she is here to burn doubt
glow in its ember’s light
as she seizes back
her every stolen right
