SHE

The day begins with her affectionate call in the morning-The mother. The embodiment of all cosmic love, an aura of beauty unsurpassed by any entity in the universe, the partaker of our souls. This is she. 

The lessons delivered by her soulful voice which seep deep into our beings preparing us for the battle ahead. The teacher. This is she.

When stumbling upon life's ups and downs and reaching in the dark a hand to hold firm, to share the soul's gravest insecurities and the deepest secrets, she is always there. The sister. The confidant we can confide in, the parent we can look up to, the buddy for a lifetime. This is she.

When she walks past, daylight seems a little brighter, the flowers more colourful and the spring air seems resplendent with a million fragrances as her one smile, her one glance paints the canvas of dreams with a magnificent variety of hues. Life seems spectacular. The lover. This is she.

The better half, the partner, the friend, philosopher and guide, the reason for a smile after the day's labour. The wife. The heart of the household, the soul of the family. This is she.

Her little fingers tracing the outline of my heart, as it melts in the fuzzy warmth of her love. Her tiny voice calling out my name, showing me a reflection of me in her bright eyes. The daughter. The part of me locked and secured away in my soul. This is she.

Yet the role play does not end here as many more avenues await her presence. Yet would you let harm befall her? Would you still lust her flesh and objectify her knowing fully well you were born from her. Your existence being a constant reminder of her conscious decision to bear all pain to show you the light of the day? Would you still harm her? Would you allow her to be consumed by the flames of unjust traditions and be deaf to her pleas of mercy for no fault of hers? Would you let your want for a preferred child turn you into an indecisive monster and show no compassion to the human form of the Goddess you offer prayers to? Would you let the yoke of traditions pin her to the ground and clip her wings, stall her flight and let her bleed unto oblivion where you cannot differentiate between her presence or absence? Would you still consider her subjugate to your superiority and still call it norms? Would you still? Would you? O let not, the people of the world. Allow her to spread her wings and

take flight into the far horizon where she explores the unknown and romances the unexplored. Where education becomes her real precious gem and she moves forward unafraid. Where the skies look as safe a haven for her as the national frontiers. Where she spacewalks her way to the moon and treats the ailing with a similar zeal. Where she constructs empires of concrete with the same panache as she sashays down the aisle of glamour. Where she rules the lands with the same efficiency as she makes her way towards victory in the ring. Where she captures moments of joy and sorrow, of love and empathy with the same ease as she dances her way into our hearts. Allow her to be the magnificence she really is, for she is one of the finest creation of the omnipresent, the gift of the age's wisdom. "She" is a woman. Not an regret, a mitigation or a victim. Not an ornament of desires alone. But Human. Human of flesh and blood, of thoughts and emotions, of intellect and labour.