White I travel back to the 80s And I see a little boy. He is working in a field, There isn't any toy. I see a bright figure, Small but shining tall. I see someone next to him, then it makes sense and all. I realise it's his uncle Normalising many things for him, Like shouting at his wife And holding her at whim. They don't have a daughter So I guess he didn't learn, How to love a woman And how to blow on her burn. Later, at worst, he adds salt, Thinking it would be better. But this is not a recipe So his thoughts don't matter. He forgot to love And he will never understand. He will always feel inferior Whenever a woman takes a stand. And though he'll be great, He will not be satisfied. He will hurt many... His actions, cruel, yet glorified. And yet he will be called A Man. The false definitions will not change. She'll always be stepped over, They will always call her strange. ©Anagha Ukaskar

Anagha Ukaskar

White I travel back to the 80s And I see a little boy. He is working in a field, There isn't any toy. I see a bright figure, Small but shining tall. I see someone next to him, then it makes sense and all. I realise it's his uncle Normalising many things for him, Like shouting at his wife And holding her at whim. They don't have a daughter So I guess he didn't learn, How to love a woman And how to blow on her burn. Later, at worst, he adds salt, Thinking it would be better. But this is not a recipe So his thoughts don't matter. He forgot to love And he will never understand. He will always feel inferior Whenever a woman takes a stand. And though he'll be great, He will not be satisfied. He will hurt many... His actions, cruel, yet glorified. And yet he will be called A Man. The false definitions will not change. She'll always be stepped over, They will always call her strange. ©Anagha Ukaskar

Anagha Ukaskar