Dove.

Somber street, misty night,

the silence was deafening.

The air kissing the shrubs,

nightingale, in the dark, singing.

There she walked,

in the murky black, alone.

Trudging with fear,

shivers quivering her bones.

Why was she uncertain

in her own city?

A place what the world

calls "a forward community".

Perhaps because the world

is an abominable place to be a girl.

Somewhere when boys rule,

and fear makes girls' fingers curl.

When will this society realise,

that women are just as wise.

"Modern and globalised" are just terms,

incompetent is what a society is

until a girl child flies.