Tag Archives: women power

I’ll Be A Good Girl….

Ah! This is such a wonderful sight

Away from all heinous plight.

Amidst the bed of roses

Smelling the smell of happy doses.

 

The two girls playing

Dancing and swaying,

Happy, serene

Jovial and green.

 

I love to see them

I also want to be them,

Playing with my brothers and sister

Oh, won’t I have a brother or a sister?

 

Or, do I have someone

Already waiting for me?

A daughter or a son

Already your honeybee?

 

I will be a good girl

To you, to everyone,

Like an obedient schoolgirl

With a sweet tongue.

 

I will play and eat

Will be your only heartbeat,

I will dance and learn

And shine like a Christmas fern.

 

I want to see you

See my father,

I want to be you

Given away at age, by my father.

 

I want to live life

I want to have friends

I want to thrive

I want to go through life’s all bends.

 

But I understand

All in good time,

For now I need to be in this dreamland

Your womb being my partner in crime.

 

But it is getting dark

And I am feeling cold,

I’ll complain to grandma

Please return to our home.

 

You understand me so well

I just thought and you already did,

Walking gracefully like a belle

You succumbed to your beautiful kid.

 

But wait are you sure this is the way, mamma?

And why are you burning like a sauna?

But again who am I to judge?

3 months old, who knows not much?

 

But where is this mamma?

This is not our home.

I don’t see your comfy pajama

This is not where you roam.

 

Why are you lying in this small, rigid bed?

You need to be comfortable instead.

Who are these people in white?

Why are they shining the light so bright?

 

See, this is already hurting

You and me too.

You are twisting and squirting

They are letting the pain brew.

 

What is this?

What is happening?

What are they doing?

Why are you crying?

 

It is paining me too

Piercing me through and through,

I want to live and you are so cruel

You killed me, and my dreams accrual.

 

God!

Forbid!

Stop!

Have pity on me!

 

They are cutting me

My tiny legs and hands,

I want to flee

But the pain is killing me.

 

You killed me, mamma

How could you do this?

I am speechless

I am breathless.

 

You killed me for I was a girl

Is it so big a sin?

Then why was I called a pearl

If I was merely a skim?

 

If this world is such

Where you kill your own blood?

Then I am happy to have lived an innocent life

Without a sinful crime.

 

I have a question before I go

How does it feel to make your own kid a foe?

I know this may not be only your wish

For I have heard the constant surrounding whish.

 

But all the same I die

Without an answer for ‘why’,

I bid you adieu

And may girls never come to this life,

If everyone is like you.

****

This will be the last post for #NaPoWriMo. Somehow I ended up writing this last poem imitating the very first thing I ever wrote, like the very first time I put pen to paper, and though novice it’s always been close to my heart. I am attaching the link to the post, for I am certain I shared it in my blog at some point of time.

Were you not a girl, Mamma?

Also, my heartiest thanks for all you readers for sticking through the entire month of April, for your amazing and honest reviews, and for constantly just showering love on me and my immature poems. THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH!

 

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The Glorious Madness.

Like a cloud of fire

I soar a little higher

In the burning light

Of that sadistic sun.

Sinking-rising-

Burning the golden lightening

In the broad of daylight.

He fears not-

Throwing the silver arrows and spheres

In the dawn- quite clear

The dusk, a little dear

He springs, trying to cut my wings

Amidst the shade of rainbows- I hide

Unwanted- unbidden

Not to shed a tear

But only to gather my very madness.

He knows not what I am

A cruel, blithe spirit

Rejoicing in the love that I bore

That from my lips would flow

And so like a lonely cloud of fire

I soar a little higher

Ignoring the fountain of pain

Basking in the glory of triumphant gain.

 

I Smile.

I burn my body to ashes

But my conscience savors and yearns

I rot amidst my own ashes

But my soul transpires beyond the patriarchal tavern.

 

I burn and I smile

Beyond my submissive rage

For I have no dreams

Only a small selfish realm.

 

I burn and I smile

Even from my ashes, when he rise

Drowning me beneath my own existence

Setting my red hair- aflame.

 

I burn and I smile

From among the quivering ashes

Subsiding, submerging- dying

O God- Can I please cease the smile?

 

 

Picture Credits: coub.com

 

A blackballed blizzard.

Like the oceans galore

My feelings remain

Like the prisoners of war.

 

Concealed

Hushed

Dejected.

 

Like the waves tumultuous

My thoughts remain

Secretively voluptuous.

 

Melancholic

Wretched

Rising from the purgatory.

 

Like the looming storm

Burdened, heavy

Burning my eyes like a sandstorm.

 

Hesitantly swarming in my chest

I have locked them up

Leaving myself bereft.

 

Do not try your pretending words, balmy

For they are raging inside

Threatening to surrender like a Tsunami.

 

 

Suppressed Vehemence.

You said it was love,

And I believed in you and called it love-

I fused in you

And lost all I had.

 

I loved you with all I had

And you deceived me with all you could

All I claimed was, you to love me too

And all you did was betrayed me with all my feelings too.

 

But what could I have expected,

I wanted sunshine and rains and winters

I wanted all-

But unknowingly I entered a silent brawl.

 

I wronged myself, in believing in you

For I think I demanded sunshine off the morning dew,

It’s not your fault, as rains only provide thunder

And a snowfall in scorching summers would only be a wonder.

 

The Mystical Pishogue #2

I am fierce

I am wild

I am an emblem of self-implied exile.

 

I am aggressive

I am saucy

I am an insignia of selfishly haughty.

 

I am bold

I am vain

I am an image of disdain.

 

I am dominant

I am arrogant

I am yet, a metaphor of a self-loathing Samaritan.

 

I am malicious

I am viciously uncompassionate

I am of all these, a conglomerate.

 

I am I

I am what I am

A phony fable in a flesh.

 

I am I

I am what I am

A conceited allegory in oneself.

 

Her another shade of mystery here: The Mystical Pishogue.

His torturous existence.

I am a woman

And by default I have a best friend.

I met ‘him’ at a tender age,

When I was 14

And for everyone I knew

I was already late.

When the first time I called my friend ‘him’

I was frowned upon.

“It is she, my dear! It is only your chance.”

But I didn’t want that chance, you know.

Who would want a friend

Who comes unannounced

At all the wrong times

When you plan to go for a swim

Or have a dance show

Or better yet

When you already have 10 different aches,

Who would want a friend that will just add another set of pains?

But there I was, at 14

And just because I ticked the box ‘Female’

I had a best friend,

Who would be with me till times inane.

And so I complied,

Now, if I have to have him inside my body every month

Why not make the best of it?

So, every month I would cry

When he would enter me

And I’d simply shy

Wouldn’t know how to walk-

Did he make everyone this uncomfortable?

Or was I the only one who would feel as a

Combustible?

So I would sit and complain,

I can’t go out

I am not well

And I just want to sit and read and eat and sleep and rest-

My excuses were never enough,

For I was a woman

And people were after equality

So it didn’t matter

And so I had to plaster a smile

Even when my cramps would let in no air.

As time went by,

My best friend became consistent,

Ever month, after almost 35 days

He’d visit me

And make me want to become a man.

“Why did he not have any pain?” I’d wonder.

But then if ‘he’ was the one giving me so much pain

How could he himself accustom to such cruel gain.

I call him

And every man, and woman would cringe-

But come on, it has to be a ‘him’

Who else would think of harassing a woman

The likes of this-

If it weren’t for a ‘him’?

It can only be a him

Who gives me such a headache,

Who makes me a throbbing backache?

Who makes my walking difficult,

With his unwanted intrusion,

Who makes my stomach bloat

Who takes away from my own body, my very own blood,

Who makes me consistently wet

And pains me with his very existence!

Of course it has to be a ‘him’-

Its name itself involves ‘Men-‘

Of course it has to be a him-

Ladies, at least must agree,

But then we live in a conventional society

Where talking about being wet is grimaced upon,

Let alone the talk of staining your pants,

Shhhhhhhh—-

You are making it very clear, woman

Stop talking!

We are at the point where we fight for equality

And you saying these things

Isn’t helping

You are a woman

And you just have to live with your best friend.

And so I tell myself

I am a woman,

As if I didn’t know so far

And since I am a woman

I will just have to live with it.

As if I could literally do anything about it!

And so I make sure that I carry ‘things’ with myself

Everywhere,

Carefully hiding it from the men’s stare.

God forbid they know

What we go through.

Let alone ‘him’ being the only reason we go through.

Then comes the choice of colors of my dresses

Where I will make sure to avoid

The white and lights

When I will somehow know

That ‘he’ is going to visit me.

And then suddenly I will have to cancel all the fun plans

Only because I am not up for it,

And my mood is so unreliable

That I will hate even myself

But I still go and work just as such

For I am a woman,

And that is just a part of me.

That ‘him’ is just a part of me.

And just suddenly, because I am the one inviting problems,

I will have the unknowing urge to visit a temple,

Why?

I am not even that religious

But just because I am not “allowed”

I want to go in-

And I will somehow land up at my relatives place

Where again I am not ‘allowed’ to

Sit on the sofa

On the bed

Or eat just as naturally.

For I am dirty on those days

And I just don’t love it.

But then again I am a woman,

And that is how I am ‘suppose’ to be.

My friend will come and visit

That is by default-

In my system-

And I will have to just live with it.

I don’t have a choice.

‘He’ is just a part of me.

And just like all other men

He is just another sour ache on my body,

My mind

Straining my life with his very existence.