The voice of mine.

When I was trying to pull out myself from the recent events  someone enters as a gazing sunshine in my dreams of reality. I wispered to myself, whether it’s something that will acquire the most out of me or will it be the one, like the earlier. But I moved, I talked, I laughed; the intrinsic thought of mine. I admired the world, it’s precious creature, to the most gorgeous thing-women.

                 Women is just like the soft core of a heart which admires their own creativity. They had sacrificed every aspect of their life, not to mention, they are mother, daughter, wife. Ever since the creepy things had started to accumulate inside my soul, she use to build it out of my contact. She is the one who pulled her eyes at 12.00, just to stick our eyes so that our brain would get dissolve into majestic dreams.
                                    Never it was the case, when she hasn’t dropped her eyes, cover her Face with her saree, infront of elders. Is there some code written over her face? This has followed India from birth. What’s the use of culture when it don’t provide equality? Why should she only and not he?
She is the mother of the son who proclaim her wife as his servant. Not until I reached 5, I developed the sense of secularism towards women. They did to politics, I to women’s freedom-democratise. If I am hanging a bag around my shoulder, if I can put my leg on the accelerator, I want her to do the same. If you want to indulge others by showing your control over your partner, why don’t you become North Korean?

“They come like blessing. Their soft touch makes us silky. Their  voice attracts us like the heaven. Their expressions points everything. Some say they can understand it. Some say they had. But no one ever showed a glimpse of it. “


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