Another birth passage
forcibly conquered.
Seeds planted and body plundered.
Wealth and politics
tore her innards.
Justice remains
a figment of desperate imagination.
Fodder for news channels,
TRP rides a rocket to the stars.
Another lady appears on the screen,
in carefully curated business attire.
Her voice, her words—
carefully choreographed for moral outrage.
But after all,
the passage was someone else\'s;
hers remains intact.
Police, faithful as the eunuch harem guards—
Heave-ho: protect the mighty
from the law.
Take money and forget—
professional etiquette upheld.
Who raped her?
No man.
The limp phalanx of moral absence
of a civilized nation.
Journalists\' Eldorado:
Print her pathos, see the sales grow.
All forgotten for a payment.
Let\'s get paid and forget.
Why does she continue to whimper?
Didn\'t she wear a short skirt?
Didn\'t she get drunk?
Wasn\'t she casting pearls of titillation?
Let her answer.
She was a nobody.
Let\'s milk the cow for money.
Finally, we shall make her a nobody again
when the milk runs out.
Can someone ask her to shut up?
Doesn\'t she know it\'s impolite to linger?
Brothers and sisters,
attend the vigil, shout for justice
till you become hoarse.
Finally, return home
to a chilled beer.
Obligation discharged.