Drowned In Desparity

By Pranjal Verma

The way his eyes rested upon me,

The dark brown, wrinkly eyes embedded on my body,

Pestering me to have a word with him—

The hunger glistening in his eyes,

And in my head, unbosoming anxious thoughts.

But today, guilt takes over me—

Only if I would’ve fought.

Maybe?

Unaware of the consequences I would’ve faced,

I clenched my fists, let out a sigh, and stayed.

Yes, I was enraged, but anxious as well.

Today, when I am questioned regarding the same,

I really don’t know what to tell.

At every moment my heart would sear,

Questioning me—how much would I bear?

In all the perplexed definitions of a woman’s dignity.

I should’ve fought back,

Or just followed the ideal femininity—

For a matter of fact, this wasn’t the first time either.

I spoke up initially when this was new,

Very well aware of the game of blame.

Gathering the required courage after hearing the hurtful screams,

I lost something within me—the engaging flame.

Rather, I was shattered—no less disappointed either.

I chose to be visceral and stay quiet,

To delve the solutions all by me.

All known ones drowned in disparity,

And here I am, with a fresh wound—

Overthinking all the probabilities.

By Pranjal Verma