Prologue Every time the metro door clasps close And I'm a spectator Un-wooed by the observing the mobile stories called people or unsullied in the musical instruments of coke studio's playlists And I'm a spectator. Precisely to the door Opening into freedom and purposefulness Allowing the traffic to wilfully exchange their positions But here's the thing, When it beeps before, the determined doors of doom close shut. I'm always scared they'd close on someone briefly before opening again Shaking their being For a long minute, Out of their steady goals I'm scared they'll close on me too, again, if I'm a little lousy or dreamy The same way men scream and scream and scream Like a war cry and a boundary of caution and the last word Before declaring my way or the highway While threatening and precisely cutting through Shells of porcupine piercing through the pores of A woman's skin. A deviant's skin. A rebellion's skin. The skin of liberatio
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