Her cloak.


The date, day and place was irrelevant but that moment was the most beautiful in the history of the universe. For a creature was born. As its first cry was perceived, the world reverberated in doubts, misgivings and agnosticism.  And she was cloaked as a ‘woman’.

The cloak shield her, the cloak mocked her. It was a degree for disqualification. It was a constitution to abuse. It was a virtue of a demon, ascendancy of the creator.

The cloak exalted her. She could be an opera singer and harmonise the words of agony. She could be the warrior princess the world will never know. She could breed the world in a way daemon can’t and be consumed by nonchalance to celebrate her coherence.

The cloak was her armour, her sword, her morphine.
It was now her soul, her spirit, her skin.

She was the cloak she had been given. A powerful, independent, indefatigable creature. She was a believer, a doer. She was all that they thought she wasn’t. She was now, A WOMAN.


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