Hid many faces under veils of fabric,
My life is a thousand pages, not a limerick!
Enough of your attempts which conquered my freedom,
My entity is a possession, not your ransom!
My march shall walk forth, beyond my vain,
Despite the will to confine me with your chain.
My skin isn’t a treacherous isotope,
Which, in your privacy, tries to probe,
Not inflammable, nor combustible.
Not my clothes, but your mind- susceptible.
Hid many faces under veils of fabric,
My life is a thousand pages, not a limerick!
My bangles don’t exhibit daily chores,
But beauty and strength it upholds.
My hands aren’t evidences of cowardice,
Nor weakness but a morning bliss.
Hid many faces under veils of fabric,
My life is a thousand pages, not a limerick!
I am not a silicon lifeless doll,
Mortal, cold and gravely lull.
Not a puppet with a fixed smile,
Victim of your hands’ turmoil!
Hid many faces under veils of fabric,
My life is a thousand pages, not a limerick!
My talismanic eyes don’t capture your hollow sight,
Made not for slumber but a sabotaging fight.
My vision neglects your vicious hallucination,
Out of the woods of your heinous nation.
Hid many faces under veils of fabric,
My life is a thousand pages, not a limerick!
No longer shall your fist rise in anger,
No longer shall I satisfy your entrails’ hunger!
No longer shall I be trapped in devil’s trade,
No longer shall my dignity strangulate.
Hid many faces under veils of fabric,
My life is a thousand pages, not a limerick!
And here a bead of perspiration escapes,
Into the shades where your mind frustrates.
I witness not crime, but your wrinkled forehead,
Which questions your actions- mercilessly crooked!
Now you shall taste bitter avenge,
Enough of attacking; now you shall defend!