Oh Dorothea, we are dismal you are born.
An onus you are.
A girl, an object of scorn.
Your birth permutes the autumn,
to gloomy drops of rain.
In the plight of dotage,
you shall be our lone bane.
Oh, Dorothea
the male gapes at you,
it must be your fault.
Adorn yourself with a myriad of satin,
and bring your passions to a halt.
Quell your ire,
wrap your convictions in barbed wire.
A naive maiden,
you are a woman, Dorothea!
You shan’t be your own man.
Oh, Dorothea
be the banal coy,
a damsel in distress.
You must not fight your own battles,
you lack the skill and prowess.
Do not chase your fantasies,Dorothea,
take them to the grave.
Else,
we shall duly accord you
with the epithet of ‘the evil sorceress.’
-Ameya Sharma