That Time Of The Month
I struggle to even eat,
To walk, to run, to survive.
I touch death and come back to life,
And still, I don’t feel alive.
The period cramps are unbelievably cruel,
How often do I curse?
No words are made to describe the pain,
No rhythms, no songs, no verse.
Everything seems to fall apart,
On those very six days.
I am not able to convey my feelings,
I feel lost in all the ways.
Only because I am considered impure,
Only because I can’t help it indeed.
The red makes the world black and white to me,
Only because I bleed.
I shiver to tears and fears,
I break into every small piece.
Instead of care, I receive the tag of impurity,
Oh, God! May my gender live in peace.
I call myself a hero,
And they think I am insane.
I smile while I shed off the blood,
Ah, what is the definition of pain?
‘That time of the month’, is not a matter of shame,
So what if it makes me suffer a bit longer?
It molds me into a braver she,
It makes me courageous, It makes me stronger.
Also Read: It Hurts To Love You
