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A female foetus is murdered in utero, but pledges to come back through another womb, at another time, but still as a girl child. An incisive poem.
Securely I lie huddled in my mother’s womb
Happily I dream
Of the day I will place my tiny feet out
On the face of this earth
Of the verdant green
Of the blazing sun
Of the golden daffodils
Whispering to me
Voices I hear
Shaken I feel
Unspoken words, unfinished tasks
The edge of a steely blade
The rigid contours of the human mind
Scared and Appalled
Is this the world I fathomed?
Is this the world am destined to enter?
Slaughtered and butchered
My tiny face puckers into a coverlet of tears
The innocent me refuses to surrender
To give up
With the last of my effort
I cry out to the unconcerned, cruel world
Let me live
Let me dream
Let me not die
How I wish I were a male
How I wish I could feel the pincers clutching on to my legs
Pulling me out to witness the world of beauty, of glory
Alas! I am a wretched female
A wretched female I wish to be
In my next life
In the nine lives to come
Knives I see
Blades I see
Blood I see
They deem me a stillborn
I deem myself murdered and throttled
I shall come back yet another day
I shall come back through yet another womb
Thou shall see me fight and fight
To make my sex known
To make myself known
To defy all odds
And make you ponder
How I wish I had let her live
How I wish I had let her dream
How I wish I had let her fly
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Published here earlier.
Image source: pixabay
I have been in love with the written word for the longest time now. I have had the opportunity to intern with Women's Web in 2016, and continue to remain a proud member of read more...
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He said that he needed sometime to himself. I waited for him as any other woman would have done, and I gave him his space, I didn't want to be the clingy one.
Trigger Warning: This deals with mental trauma and depression, and may be triggering for survivors.
I am someone who believes in honesty and trust, I trust people easily and I think most of the times this habit of mine turns into bane.
This is a story of how a matrimonial website service turned into a nightmare for me, already traumatized by the two relationships I’ve had. It’s a story for every woman who lives her life on the principles of honesty and trust.
And when she enters the bedroom, she sees her husband's towel lying on the bed, his underwear thrown about in their bathroom. She rolls her eyes, sighs and picks it up to put in the laundry bag.
Vasudha, age 28 – is an excellent dancer, writer, podcaster and a mandala artist. She is talented young woman, a go getter and wouldn’t bat an eyelid if she had to try anything new. She would go head on with it. Everyone knew Vasudha as this cheerful and pretty young lady.
Except when marriage changed everything she knew. Since she was always outdoors, whether for office or for travelling for her dance shows, Vasudha didn’t know how to cook well.
Going by her in-laws definition of cooking – she had to know how to cook any dishes they mentioned. Till then Vasudha didn’t know that learning to cook was similar to getting an educational qualification. As soon as she entered the household after her engagement, nobody was interested what she excelled at, everybody wanted to know – what dishes she knew how to cook.