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Recently a group of men tried to ward of the 'feminist pisachini' by doing a puja. The pisachinis respond.
Recently a group of men tried to ward of the ‘feminism pisachini‘ by doing a puja. A pisachini responds.
Lying on the floor
Wounded, naked and numb
You called me
And a cunt
Asked me to play by your rules
Or f*$k off from where I came from.
Close on the heels of the chase
You smirk, “Too easy a prey!”
Go ahead, my dear
Deem me a slut,
Shame me as much as you want
My choices and associations
None of your business.
My life – I own it
Write it and live it.
Does my direct gaze cause a dent to your pride?
And loud voice rattle your core?
“Too opinionated!”, you cry.
I’d rather be a bitch
And stir a revolution
Than keep my gaze,
My tone down
Cos down is where doormats belong
Not me, not any of my sisters.
Don’t you dare brand me a whore,
Nip me in the bud
Dim my shine
Or force me to cater to your calling.
For like a rose that blooms,
My curves will freely roam
And sway rapturously in the air
To the heart’s fullest desire.
My cunt’s not a curse
To thwart its life inside the cocooned womb
My cunt’s not the cross
To make an outcast of me
In my maternal and marital home
My cunt’s a fountain of hope for humankind
Let it flow naturally
Breaking glasses, ceilings, and ill-fate.
I’m all of this
And so much more
A Pisachini aroused
From the sacred Puja ashes.
First published at author’s blog
Image via Unsplash
Author, poet, and marketer, know more about Tina Sequeira here: www.thetinaedit.com
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As he stood in front of his door, Nishant prayed that his wife would be in a better mood. The baby thing was tearing them apart. When was the last time he had seen his wife smile?
Veena got into the lift. It was a festival day, and the space was crammed with little children dressed in bright yellow clothes, wearing fancy peacock feather crowns, and carrying flutes. Janmashtami gave her the jitters. She kept her face down, refusing to socialize with anyone.
They had moved to this new apartment three months ago. The whole point of shifting had been to get away from the ruthless questioning by ‘well-wishers’.
“You have been married for ten years! Why no child yet?”
I huffed, puffed and panted up the hill, taking many rest breaks along the way. My calf muscles pained, my heart protested, and my breathing became heavy at one stage.
“Let’s turn back,” my husband remarked. We stood at the foot of Shravanbelagola – one of the most revered Jain pilgrimage centres. “We will not climb the hill,” he continued.
My husband and I were vacationing in Karnataka. It was the month of May, and even at the early hour of 8 am in the morning, the sun scorched our backs. After visiting Bangalore and Mysore, we had made a planned stop at this holy site in the Southern part of the state en route to Hosur. Even while planning our vacation, my husband was very excited at the prospect of visiting this place and the 18 m high statue of Lord Gometeshwara, considered one of the world’s tallest free-standing monolithic statues.
What we hadn’t bargained for was there would be 1001 granite steps that needed to be climbed to have a close-up view of this colossal magic three thousand feet above sea level on a hilltop. It would be an understatement to term it as an arduous climb.
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