The Slate of Life
Why kill the girl child, why let her hide.
This world is beautiful, but not more than a bride.
She is the forbearer of human life, of all men indeed.
She is an epitome of perseverance and love, her own self she bleeds.
In spite of all her sacrifices, she is sought to be killed before seeing light,
Without a chance to fight and prove her might.
For all the beauty in the world, the society resorts to kill the best.
Vile is the reason, bloodthirsty and worth detest.
They say, spending a thousand rupees today is better than spending a lakh tomorrow.
I ask, do you have any right to kill someone - someone as devine as a little child, someone as pure as a pristine soul and someone as important as the girl child - to give her nothing but regret and sorrow?
Regret that she chose your home to illuminate.
And sorrow because you disavowed her, took her life and wiped clean her slate.
The slate of life she dreamt about in her mother’s womb,
The slate of life she thought of drawing her childhood on,
The slate of life she loved the most.
That’s all she had,
A slate of life, and a few dreams.
A few dreams of life and a few dreams of love.
And you took them from her.
- Keshav
