S.H.A.K.T.I.

Every month I invoke Shakti in me,

To flow a litte blood, more 

To bleed away the self doubts. 

Every month I become more woman,

To test a little endurance, more,

To reduce the burden month by month.

They celebrated me when I bled for the first time.

Thus I became fit to give birth to pain and wounds.

Who never fails to meet me every month.

Pain is as sweet as my mom's stick.

But Wounds has cocktail faces,

Sometimes it oozes out as

Heat inside me pressurises.

Sometimes the one who celebrated me 

Pricks it with a pin.

Some said I was too small to mature physically,

Some said I was fat enough to attain puberty.

Some said I was too complicated to be celebrated.

I asked them why am I made to sit in a corner.

The graph of eyebrows were in peak with some sighs. (STILL) 

They celebrated me, threw me a 2-day function.

Now that it's all over they say every month 

You are given 3 days to enjoy the tranquility.

They can obviously control my words and action.

But not my thoughts!

I respect my tradition; but do you respect it?

I respect because I keep the divinity ahead of biology.

I fight for my intuitions,

You fight for suppressing mine. 

Keep on blowing away the candles,

But you can never, its source. FIRE.

Every month I invoke Shakti, Fire.

To free the ignorance in me,

To essentially become the Fire itself!