The men of this forest aren’t ashamed of comparing themselves to flies that feed on every piece of sugar they find; They said I was sugar, so is now the time to lose my nectar, and lose my flowers.

I replaced the lilies on my head with pepper sprayed roses, for now, I don’t even care if I go bald. For now, they found sugar in a three year old flower.

Last time, they stroked at iron rod into a woman working for a cause and a respectable old man laughed, “boys’ mistakes aren’t crimes.”

No crime, on the blood of my sisters they dine.

Shall I look down upon my gender, or I cry over the plight of my women losing their family after losing their honour.

Honour, stroked into their vagina like a rod.

A rod, to be pulled out everytime a woman gains power.

A rod, to hit her in the head and ask, “where’s your honour?”

A rod will be your pill to swallow, filthy men.

My honour lies naked, unashamed, unbent, proud, erect, in my eyes;


(image: Ancient Pages)


I gave myself this title a short time ago.

I have always felt it in me; I am meant to cleanse the world of its neck-gripping flaws that suppress women.

Mahish.asur-mar.dini – it’s a sanskrit word that means ‘killer of monsters’.

I hope to kill them in my poems.

I hope to kill the monsters in the minds of people.

I am change; I am breaking every glass ceiling I see. I will make this world better.

You can also check out my work on Instagram : @nidhie_saini


Published by

Kindra M. Austin

Author of fiction, poetry, and very sweary social commentary. Editor and writer for Sudden Denouement, Whisper and the Roar, and Blood Into Ink. Founder of One for Sorrow. Founding member of Indie Blu(e).

2 thoughts on “Honour-Mahish.asur-mar.dini

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