I roll over to the other side of bed, while he continues to snore-sleep peacefully. I stare at him, may be for the first time; wondering how manly does he look!
“Manly? F**k off bitch! How can you even use this word for a demon like him?”, my soul screams.
This time, I don’t rebel, nor do I contradict my soul. I tell you he is manly; having the perfect physique, strength, deep eyes and a manly voice. But he isn’t the one! It has been almost half year since we tied the knot, but now this knot is choking me. I’m a women throughout the day, and a tagged wife at night.
He rips my soul every night, devouring my skin with his touch. Ironically, I can’t even scream. I lay down silently, staring into his eyes. I wonder if he could hear my heart cry, and just for once stop to listen me. I try to love him, but his lust wins over. I run my hands through his hairs quite often, and he jerks them off again. Each night, I’m laid as a wife, yet never treated as one.
I’m taught to keep my mouth shut, for I have been devoured of my voice too. I wail in silence, holding on tight to the bed sheets. I try pushing him away, yet fail again.
“Run away! You aren’t meant to be here!”, my soul shouts quite often.
I turn over, taking my eyes off him. Holding on tightly to the pillow, I shed off my tears. While I try to pick myself, my legs tremble with fear.
“I can’t run away! It’s difficult and painful too.”, I apologize to my soul.
I step out into the balcony, gazing at the full moon.
“Naked yet beautiful. You are being loved and not lust. Poets claim over you, yet never touch you. They let you speak, redefining your flaws. Feel lucky buddy!”, I talk to the moon.
I cover my skin, drowning completely in darkness. Holding the covers tight, I manage to move away, may be just a few steps. With my long messy curls, and swollen eyes I sit in gloom.
“I wish I could run away!”, I wonder; may be for the hundredth time.
Irony is, in a country like India where extramarital affairs are no more illegal, marital rape is still legal. Thousands of souls like her, wail in silence every night. They are crushed, ripped apart and devoured each night to an extent where they are no longer repairable. She is impure when she bleeds, yet you want to test her virginity. Ironical, isn’t it? She can’t enter the temple, yet she gets laid down at night. Another irony, you see! Isn’t this a satire on judiciary? But who cares, right? After all you have claimed her while tying the knot; the knot that chokes her everyday. Did you ever ask her opinion? Did you ever try to listen to her silent screams? No, you didn’t and probably you never will.