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When I turned twenty, I did not cut a birthday cake like Tiwari's daughter, but sat down to cut the tall grass overgrowing on his field!
When I turned twenty, I did not cut a birthday cake like Tiwari’s daughter, but sat down to cut the tall grass overgrowing on his field.
When I turned twenty
strangely I remembered my birth
the silent cries and the silent sighs,
hopes failed and expectations dwindled,
I was born into a deathless abyss.
When I turned twenty,
I astonishingly remembered the battles fought
the scars endured,
the labour undergone
to just live.
strangely I was reminded of the dead brother who shot himself,
and his speeches which brought us to no good.
For I remain a farmhand and he an ignored voice-deprived soul.
When I turned twenty ,
I sat not to count my gifts,
but to count the burning blisters on my dark Dalit hands;
and the countless black rings around a despised toe.
I did not cut a birthday cake like Tiwari’s daughter
but sat down to cut the tall grass overgrowing on his field.
I did not remember happy memories of a shielded childhood,
but strove to forget a neglectful existence.
To say the truth,
when I turned twenty
I had no time to think,
for there was lessons to be done,
grass to be cut,
the rice to be boiled
and a world to be fought.
Isha is a 18 year old student of English Honors in Christ University. An aspiring poetess, a blundering writer and a hopelessly old school romantic, Isha, decidedly in love with English, Maddhava and all things read more...
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