I had started building it early.
In my 13th summer, had felt the wetness
Cursing self I had sighed.
My second was X, not Y
Lagging behind by an alphabet to cost me five life-worthy days a month
Beginning of survival with cognizance of periodic blood loss
Nevertheless called for celebrations somehow
I roared at the social imbecility and eternal function crave
Still wondered at the Divine mechanisms
Till the complexity was taught –
That my within was tortuously confusing,
Dormant fertility had awakened that day, I reckoned
Motherhood in me curled its lips in to a smile
If sewing teddy could cost a droplet of the red
My baby could of course ask for all
I sang odes to the aching lowers, embarrassing laundries and otherwise inactivity
A final one to the second X.
My baby’s first abode, I painted imaginatively
Repainted once more
Reconstructions of the haven continued
As my fertility got legitimized
So were celebrations in my eyes
Marital joys ancillary as they seemed
I was eager to barter a pain for another
For the life shall be caused meanwhile
At least so I thought
I kept renovating, priding my femininity
Without a reason I discovered
As my own complexity jibed at me:
The barter is not that simple
You thought ‘blood-money’ was all
One sixth of lifetime seemed painfully futile
The thoughts in rest, laughable
I still keep living, painting and re-painting,
A part of me which could only be
An uninhabited home.
(PS: A word of thanks to Daddy who doubly assured that lines in a poem need not always rhyme.)
Sparrows of Mohenjodaro - Past is a dead city and writing is often archaeology.Strange to be here.Silence is not so silent but sings like evening sparrows.I walked alone and wil...
2 years ago