She walked out. She walked out.
From the bar they Yelled.
She has been drinking.
Did you have any inkling?
She is an inviolate oxymoron, the cuss,
the paradox of what we profess.
She is in a mess.
Beat her, hit her,
Strip her till she cries.
No; she dies. First two, three.
In seconds, twenty or thirty.
Strip her. Rip her.
Feel her till she atones
And we condone.
Click, click, click.
The journalist had done his job.
And also, the mob.
Kill her, beat her till she cries.
And dies.
They were there,
Cageless – Animals.
The journalist had done his job.
Click, click, click.
She was flashed Everywhere.
In India and abroad.
Such is the alacrity (of the media).
Such hype we will never miss.
Overnight she garnered fame.
It was a hit or miss! (A quiet tear full somewhere.)
The government got into action.
To see the public reaction.
Their photos were flashed.
Arrest them.
Deadline 48 hours.
This was not rape.
It was body cuddling.
They called it molestation.
That, is – an attestation.