Late night work,
Had to walk home alone,
With the light of the moon,
And a doubt,
Am I being followed?
Too scared to look back,
Too scared to walk,
But even more scared to stop.
Or run.
A voice from the deep end…
Run I did.
What’re you scared of?
Ghosts? They mocked.
No, men, I spat.
In my scrubs,
All covered as much as I can.
A hold on my waist,
Fingers pulling my hair,
Not one man, not two men, but three.
It wasn’t the fear of death,
But, the fear of men,
The fear of men!
Men I knew indeed,
Men I worked with,
Men who asked me bout my day.
A hit on the head,
And everything’s a blur,
Blood in my eyes,
And all’s unfortunately red.
Dragged.
By three men I know,
Each with a mom and a wife and a kid.
Muffled screams,
My throat was tied,
My legs being forcefully pulled apart,
And something breaks,
For them, few bones
For me? It’s beyond.
Touch.
Touches I loath,
Touches I feared,
Touches I hoped I’d never feel,
Touches I hoped no woman ever felt.
Stop.
I’m trying to scream,
But, my scrub’s all ripped and torn,
Stuffed into my mouth,
Stop. Please.
Tears were red,
Still with a prayer,
That I was the last woman,
To be ripped,
And raped,
And killed.
Cut me with a sword to death,
Cut me inch to inch,
Let my organs be sold,
To the poor or to the rich.
But, the touch of men
Sends a shiver down my spine.
Disgusting!
Oh! I never wanna be felt.
by Aleefiya Noor Sunil (A 15-year-old after the horrific Kolkotta rape and murder case in August 2024)
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy
