A Tribute to women of Pakistan  who are beaten every second day from their husbands, brothers and sons and there character is always on the verge of assassination. Their dreams are forcefully crippled by cutting their wings because a woman has no right to fly high.

I Dream of a Day

Among all those false hopes
I out and out love this one ,
Some day her preposterous poor persona
Would add incandescence to her meek shadow
That day her gold tinted flaxen hair
Would burnish her own head instead of his fist
That day She would carry no nettle rash
From his worst claws, from his deadly kicks.
That day all her bruises would dry
All her bashful tags would fade
I dream of a mirage
Where she-roes would see their names on the altar stone
When no splendiferous she warrior would die anonymous
A night when no autumn would collect
the crispy crunch drops from a sold Barbie's eye lids
A languor siesta, when he would forget to hoodwink
Her diamond coated gold admiration for him
That day she would not die for her moneyed beauty
That evening she would earn her latent Identity
I whim to see respect for her character turning his feudal Lord's dearest duty
That day a son would place her mother's name as his surname
And  all her nerve-wrecking endeavours to rear a mighty man would be paid
She would be eared
Her dreams that night would be taken into account
That day he would realize
She has been buffeted, harassed, piqued and pained by him
Above all he would understand she is a mere mortal statue of clay
That day in ostentatious show cases she would not be placed
Among all my false hopes..
Among all my false hopes...

Copyrights reserved to Paras Ali/2016