Does this, she thought numbly,
does this feeling have a name?
And as they laughed their cruel laughs
she tried to think of shame.
But, the gag, it choked her,
not even letting her scream
When you’re barely old enough to walk,
sometimes it’s hard to tell life from a dream.
Though this pain belongs to a nightmare,
even if she hasn’t learned that word yet
And just as they ganged up on her
they simply leave her for dead
While ants crawl into her hair
feeding on her broken skin
The child is barely an infant
And cannot comprehend the idea of sin
Her clothes weren’t provocative
And she wasn’t out so late
Her lifestyle wasn’t “western”
She didn’t drink, smoke or date
It was an infant that they surrounded
an infant that they abused
And as punishment, if ever caught
they’ll live out years, and die, accused.
For all the guilt is saved for the girl
That’s what Women are really raised to be
Ashamed, hidden, fearful, submissive
and always, always guilty.
For the three year old gang-raped in Kerala. I’m sorry imouto..