I thought,
Scars were tales of a man ,
Who journeyed the sea,
To fight for freedom for his children,
Only to return and meet demons.

No, scars are for women,
Those with innocent faces,
Who were given protection,
From the cruelty of men,
Who would devour their innocence,
And eat their fruits unripe.

Let’s take a walk,
Down the hearts of the protected,
Whose breasts have been impounded,
And their curves being made straight,
Like the dry fig in the desert

Take a journey into their hearts,
And listen,

I heard songs of scars,
From their bleeding hearts,
And winds of wails whooshing from their stare,

I thought scars are for men.
I thought the protected need not cry.

Protection has no justice,
If an unripe fruit is plucked,
To keep it safe from beholders.

What is the joy of a tree,
Whose fruits do not display glee?

This is for a girl,
Who walks in the valley of puberty,
And maturity, and growth,
Who has no breast,
Who has no curves.

This is for a girl,
Whose voice cannot be heard,
Silenced by the disguise called protection,
Protection from the dangling metals,
Beneath the body of a man.

This is too big for a pen,
Too much bloody questions to ask,
Too many battles to fight,

Because I know,
Scars are for women
Who walk in the body of girls
Whose nakedness is inside their heart.

So I ask,
What if there were no memories to write,
Of a girl full of scars,
Her eyes painted with agonies,
Of haunted days.

I know a question,
Can become a reality,
If I don’t stop the fight.
#SAY NO TO FGM#