Rage In A Middle Class Household

By Shrishti Negi

Don’t shout, someone might hear

Even if it is too much to bear.

In this house, material possessions

Hold more value than you, without concessions.

So, you dare not break them,

And, if you’re a femme,

You better suppress your rage

Inside your rib cage.

You are not supposed to be angry

To express the fire that is hangry

To be seen, heard and felt,

Waiting to be dealt.

Suppress that fire

Or the consequences would be dire.

You can only scream

In your dream.

The scream screams to come out.

You know what this is all about.

How long do you think you can withhold

The scars of this world that is so cold?

No good comes from withholding your scream

If you do not scream when you have the chance,

The scream pierces the heart with a lance

In the very spot it is bottled so tight

That you can no longer fight.

You think you can suppress the scream,

But the scream pierces you from the inside.

You think you can cage it but the scream

Can be tamed by no gleam

However bright.

Underestimate its might

And face the consequences

Of the nonsenses.

What you try to control

Is not yours to patrol.

It is a fire that cannot be extinguished,

Cannot be vanquished,

Until it is freed.

Pay heed

To the scream that roars

And pours

Out of every point,

Straining every joint,

If not released,

Not unleashed.

Weren’t you warned not to play with fire

Or you’d burn your own pyre.

By Shrishti Negi