Rage

By S. Sonali

There is a rage within me,

Burning brighter than my soul,

Rage against the instilled fears,

About twisted tales and dictating norms.

Shame which outshines the smile,

Anger, Oppression, Boundaries, and Burdens,

Shackles rusted yet with strong grips,

Plunging my body into a darkened pit,

Heart rotten to the core.

The rage burns my skin,

Peeling off layers of the past,

Of the silence I kept,

The voices I stifled 

And the cries that I hold back.

The rage of the bird being caged,

As the hunter roams free,

Of the flower being plucked,

While the thorns make it bleed,

Of the doors getting closed for her,

While mansions are built for him.

The rage, which has died down,

Not even a tear left to shed,

It has taken the form of poetry,

Making me bleed.

By S. Sonali