An intense poem about the many trials and tribulations of an Indian woman, by Meenakshi, for Different Truths.
I have been a cuckoo bird in past,
Raising, egging my being in other’s nests,
Always in search of a home of my own,
Where this life could blossom,
Well, I am an Indian woman,
I have also been a caged bird,
My cage is made of those metals,
Metal of my ancestral honour,
The metal which has to get malleable with men,
Well, I am an Indian woman,
Battling thunder storms, I survived,
Facing the threat to my existence,
Or even arrival as if this planet is meant for only one body type,
I stood up, mopped away the dirt and their chauvinism,
Erected walls of courage and talent,
But missed a roof, a cosy home,
I wanted an abode,
Where I don’t need to make the bed,
Yet I could have a slumber, forever,
An abode of celebration, of my existence, just as is,
I wanted a Home,
An abode as permanent as a broken heart,
A cottage as temporary as the lover’s embrace,
A place, a palace of my own,
Well, I am an Indian woman.
©Meenakshi M. Singh
Photos from the Internet
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