//How to write//
On being asked about
how do I decide and choose,
I’ll show you my folded hands
and blame on you to
let my words fly loose.
About sky, I’ll always tell you
it was blue
for any other shade might
let you think anything but
not what I saw,
We are the corrupt people
always working under
I’ll rather start my poems with
“You left community to die” for
It’s always easy and safe to slip
We, the women, must be careful
for we should never do anything
and bring the shame.
I won’t tell you what my mother
said about the boy I lost my heart to
I know, none of us really care,
Realisations and moments matters
only when all we are left with
beautiful, cozy empty chairs.
In this era of digital revolutions
where probability of recognition
is greater than impact,
when anything can be twisted
and turned otherwise
who really care about the facts?