Thunder!
May it be a nuance
of the syllabic silence
in femaleness.
May it be the roaring
of the stars to my destiny,
breaking apart
the columns and rows
by what is known as
‘horoscope’-
the ultimate decision.
In this society that makes me ‘female’,
in this horoscope that makes me a drawing,
or in destiny that disowns me often-
where have my breaths hidden?
Do I exist,
apart from being
a burdened genre?
I doubt…
Again a thunder!