I
am not worried any longer
as to why it is impossible to demean myself any further
Except for one on the top most step
there is no danger of tumbling down
If your science which does not solve any problems
if your maths which cannot calculate tear drops
if all your wonderful experiments put together
only serve to attack with knives and daggers
my being which adds up to no more than an inch |
| |
and
which only helps to increasingly simplify
your uncultured infanticides
that only reveal your dwarf-like nature
that also show what a powerful enemy I am
For any mother
who is born in a country where she cannot love her own
reflection
who steps into the world of ghostly spirits
thoughts take shape not in the mind but in the guts |
| |
Looking
at the plot against our multiplying thoughts
Looking at the conspiracy against the foetus in the womb
Looking at the modern-day Devaki
who has come to sacrifice her children succumbing to Kamsa's
evil designs
Looking at the dual attitude injected into her blood stream
I feel nothing matters any more
the fangs of ignorance had pierced so deep in society
the backbones of wisdom had been broken so long ago
the snake bite or scorpion sting cannot hurt a new
I feel like crying
I feel like laughing even as I am scared
An unformed shape that cannot call out to its mother
When you poke the needle into the vein
with your microscope eyes which help you count the minutest
germs and insects
to determine the life and death question of whether the
foetus is female or male
the effect of anesthesia does not let me be conscious
There is not much distance between the state of being
unconscious and death
No matter how many bodies are piled up
No matter it amounting to utter helplessness
I feel like clenching my teeth and waging a battle
with the support of the dead bodies
like Abhimanyu shielding himself with a chariot wheel
to make sure the life-light is not blown off
Victory or defeat I feel like clasping the wounds
I feel I must be born a girl
amidst you who are regressing with atomic speed
saying that one should tie pestle around one's head if
madness is cured
or that sati should be committed if rains were to come
at the right time
into your unwelcome lifeless he arts
into a tribe which is going astray blind and without tenderness
into the ultra modern human slaughter house
even as I turn out to be a mother feeding a deformed child
out of pity more than love with shame and even with unbearable
sorrow
It will be like disjointed incomplete picture
staking fine shape at one go- |
