Why my own parents have become killers of me …?

In a cosmopolitan town dark tinted glossy car in silence halts.

Smoothly, unmarked door slides softly on oily hinges and unbolt.

pallid spotless walls echo
humming of ominous machines.

Unformed within the womb,
balmy splotch shrivels at the next thought.

Rapidly, ill-omened machine affirm its verdict –> G.I.R.L!!
GIRL!
GIRL?

From deep within
a tranquil
a shriveled ,
a trembling ,
an unformed voice query…

“I’m a girl child yet to be born,
throttled are my laughs
and hopes tossed in inner storm.
Why my breast fills with pain?
And , why no songs form?
Where is mirth?
Where has kindness gone?
Why? Why? Oh God !
I ask thee,
Where is sympathy ?
Who wiped it off!
Where is compassion?
Who trampled upon!
Where is humanity?
Who tossed to the winds!

Why my own parents
have become killers of
me ,
unvoiced
yet to fully form?”

This poem has been shared by Mr Jagjit Chipra.

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