Was I a Victim or a Bait
With every passing day, I feel more and more contended
With every passing story, I feel more and more determined
It's good that I am not there, to justify, to comment or to give it back
It's great that I am not there, to be blamed, to be accused and to be questioned
So many voices to opinion about, so many views to contradict around
Everyone has a point to make, everyone has a theory to break
Some question over my contemporariness, a small town girl blown away by big city charms
Some stand over my sassiness, an aspirational girl sledging the stereotypes away
Though I don't know where I have to sketch the line,
The line which differentiate me from a Victim to a Bait
The Victim who beneath those 5 egoistically challenged Men was cluttered, cramped and clutched
The Bait who at midnight invited those 5 Morally preached Men, for her character to be judged, juxtaposed and jumbled
The Victim who didn't let it go easily as she questioned and rebelled
The Bait who strolled around in night with a boy and compelled
The Victim whose body parts were crumbled with masculinity and organs were juggled with masochism
The Bait whose body was an invitation for the righteous hormones to penetrate the frustration and experiment the specimen
The Victim whose parents are offered compensation of her life with money and marches
The Bait whose parents were questioned for their upbringing and their liberalness
The Victim who left this world, wallowing all souls with a question for every women and, answers to be told
The Bait who left this world, employing all the law entities, to voice on everything a girl can be called
It's good that I am not there, to see filing reports, filming documentaries and the breaking news theories
It's great that I am not there, to still see amending laws, more rapes and more brutal new stories.