Swamped together in a spacious room

A high platform poised with chairs

Embellished with the present distinguished

-Mostly women or followers

Or scholars, who were to present there

To harangue and spit on the social taboos

Of which they belong to.

At left corner, a lady in an unending saree

Of dignity and vanity

Stood by the left corner of the stage

And her trained soft cadence

Soothed the ears the most

Of spectators sitting before.

Speech session commenced with debate and discussion

and ended with hurling condemns on the patriarchy

Raising issues, blaming me and you

-oh! Crying typical terms

Sorry!

The fragrance of dishes in the corridor

Enticed the mind and a spring burst out in the mouth

Conjuring the taste

I clutched the handle of my chairs, tightly

To restrain me of being alluring.

The concern of my sick wife

Soared and fetched my pulsating

Of nerve.

Oscillating amidst the thoughts-

Do I wait for my turn to harangue?

Or rush to the hospital to see my bed stricken wife?

**We appreciate your rating the story out of 10 at Writers and Readers’ Room | ArtoonsInn. This story is an entry for the one day event, HER, co – sponsored by BandCamera.

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