Known

You don't know me,
but I know you.
I know you as the hand that intentionally touched my bare skin, passing by.
I know you as the thirsty eyes that followed me on my way back home.
Oh, you don't know me.
But I know you.
As everyone who laughed when I said I could fix a bike.
As everyone who said I couldn't be the figurative son.
I know you,
as the women, wearing low-cut blouses,
staring at my ripped jeans.
I know you, as the men, standing voiceless,
while I slapped one and brought him to knees.
I know you,
all of you,
who wanted me to marry at 23,
who wanted me to settle for free.
I know each of you,
breathing all the dejection into me.
Waiting desperately,
to see bangles in my hands,
and chains in my feet.


(The above piece of writing is based on the theme - 'the life of a girl' as suggested by one of our readers. I hope he/she will find it worth.) :)