by 

Bakhtawar Raheem

Letter to Myself

Dear self,

I wander in wonders to see the droplets pouring from your eyes, the fire burning in your chest that you hardly ever can bear. I can see your wings trying to move though you are wingless, you are caged. You are bend up with the threads of social norms, religion, honour, slavery.

I am paralyzed while I gaze at a lioness in a birdcage. Even though you are authority less and can only be recognised as someone's wife, daughter, sister, mother deprived of your name and your own identity. At least you don't have your value as an individual a separate human without any belongings.

You are humiliated, burnt, tortured, misbehaved and cheated but the expression is not born for you and you the individual told for patience. You the major sufferer of MDD, you the victim of rape, you with the high level of anxiety.

Life seems so cruel on you as you the carrier of honour can have a stain on your character nonetheless if you haven't done anything. Sorry dear self I try my best to flourish you, I will be fighting in the deadliest wars for your freedom for you but sorry if I would be murdered in the battlefield.

By,

Your own me.

https://images.app.goo.gl/HQ8n4pD7kpejtHhJA

A Woman To Herself

© 2021 Bakhtawar Raheem. All Rights Reserved.