The Revenge Taken

By Pranjal Verma

There he stood with the weapon in his hands,

Ready to destroy me,

Ready to fulfill his will,

Ready to seek revenge.

Revenge of fighting back in the dark,

With four men on the streets—

All alone, to accompany, was my spark.

Revenge of speaking too loud, wearing my choice,

With being shut up in a cage, not talking to boys,

With being forced and hit,

Being cut and split.

Revenge of inhaling some freshness,

With working in a cabin,

With all my books being thrown in a garbage bin.

Revenge of being too silent,

With shutting up my mouth,

With listening to them, every insult they put out.

Revenge of fighting for me, standing out,

With being a spoiled brat in the house,

With being too outspoken and shouting too loud.

Revenge of keeping my emotions to myself,

With being able to not blurting everything out,

With getting quiet from always ready to shout.

Revenge of being me, not killing my authenticity,

With now listening to them and enacting their way,

With now opening my legs as down I lay.

The revenge taken of everything I did,

Every time I did exist,

Every time I stood up,

Every time I got down.

The weapon scraped my flesh from every side

As I was forced to open myself wide.

With four of them getting one by one aside,

After they worshiped my intimacy,

With me doing all that I could hide.

The revenge was taken well, to teach me a lesson—

That a girl like me isn’t meant to reside,

Because I am too outspoken and wild.

By Pranjal Verma