“You can not die of grief, though it feels as if you can. A heart does not actually break, though sometimes your chest aches as if it is breaking. Grief dims with time. It is the way of things. There comes a day when you smile again, and you feel like a traitor. How dare I feel happy. How dare I be glad in a world where my father is no more. And then you cry fresh tears, because you do not miss him as much as you once did, and giving up your grief is another kind of death.”
― Laurell K. Hamilton
This post is dedicated to the Delhi gang-rape, the girl who lost her life & started a revolution. Although faceless, she reformed laws, caused protests & the most important of all, she started people thinking. I am nothing but a mere observer. I was not a protester, or a politician but I grieved. We do not know the exact horrors perpetrated, we could all only imagine.
I was on holiday, yet the news made me sit down. I pored over all the available articles on the internet. I couldn't wrap my head around 'Why?' Rape isn't about sexual experiences, it's about power & domination. There is a fine line between power & domination to pure evil without conscience.
I can't do anything, I can't bring her back, & I can't help her family. All I can do is remember her & her throughly terrible sacrifice was by flowers. I chose a simple design, something none too complicated.
I was on holiday, yet the news made me sit down. I pored over all the available articles on the internet. I couldn't wrap my head around 'Why?' Rape isn't about sexual experiences, it's about power & domination. There is a fine line between power & domination to pure evil without conscience.
I can't do anything, I can't bring her back, & I can't help her family. All I can do is remember her & her throughly terrible sacrifice was by flowers. I chose a simple design, something none too complicated.
