When you stare, you pierce my face.
My body. Sometimes, my soul. Even my thoughts.
Can you read through my mind?
Can you hear my silent protest?
Can you feel my loathe?
Can you smell my fear?
Can you taste my disgust?
When you stare, you question my confidence.
As I walk on the road with my head held high,
your stare punctures my poise. My belief
that I belong to this space.
When you stare, you make me wonder.
Are my breasts too big for your pleasure?
Or too small to entertain your pervert thoughts?
Are my legs too hairy? Or too long
To let you imagine how you’d twist them
when you assault me sexually?
Is my bindi too distracting? Does it
make you wonder if I am married or loose?
Is my sari too bright? Allowing you
to get diverted and provoked?
You haven’t said a word
and yet I hear you.
I am filled with anguish,
as I interpret your leers.
I am filled with pain,
as I become an object for you to devour.
I am filled with regret,
as I doubt my own judgment .
When you stare, you question the reason for my existence.
I wonder why I am living this very moment
Of a piercing gaze penetrating through me
Your eyes overpower me. They strip me
with each passing moment.
And, suddenly, I am naked
in the split of a second.
No,staring is not the same as looking.