A Wail For A WALL Of ONE’S OWN

She had no complaints about life like you
She got married, gave birth to two healthy babies
And cooked and cleaned for all.
She smiled while talking, remained silent while
the hail of insults about her inabilities they showered on her.
She wore modest clothes, covered her head with nice scarves
and loved earning him and visited all invitations they thought suitable.

She had no complaints about life like you
She had the highest degree certificates
Still, she accepted the social and family love
that convinced her to stay home rather than go to a workplace.
Who wants to stay in a traffic jam for two hours
and be made up of dust and sweat
In modern Dhaka, anyway?

This she once became whingy
Their brow reached the sky, the eyes red like paprika
And her mouth is sour like tomato ketchup: she whines!

Her parents became worried, and her sister gave her an urgent call
and her friends uhoo-ahhaa 

An everyday digital destroyed her
A YouTube and A Facebook Wall are always at her fingertips
and instigate her to open the private to the public, to uncover the hidden
Shame, shame, shame...
stupidity, stupidity, stupidity...

She whined first, then howled, and finally deleted her digital wonderland
A wave of anger washed away a sweet voice, a speaking bulbuly
her desire to be visible on the virtual, the untouchable, the immanence 
Aren't Bengali women powered by self-effacing emotions? 

One night, can you, Rokeya and Woolf, knock on her door
Like Cinderella's fairy mother 
Can you shout, jago vogini? 
and gift her a beautiful dress and a bright stiletto
to visit the digital unknown and leave her footwear
in the heart and eyes of the lover-rescuer?
So that I can take my phone
and visit her page and salute a woman with a web-tiara?

11/11/2022, night, Toowong