Reading Time: 32 minutes
On the occasion of the International Women’s Day (IWD) 2018, Different Truths Poets present an anthology of poems, celebrating the woman, in paroxysms of emotions, enigmatic and multilayered, like her persona. Thirty-eight poets, from around the world, contributed a poem each, as part of the Special Feature, exclusively for Different Truths.
1. prelude
they want
a package
nicely wrapped
pleasing to look at
fluid and graceful in motion
surprises underneath
to be revealed
they want
they say so
they
hey
he
the curve of the spine
the lift of the neck
I am female; your gender, your life, are your own; I do not define you …
like you, I define myself — with choices and actions
…across the ages, I have had sisters
whose choices have been taken from them
… if my choice to act is taken from me
I will choose another response
— alive inside, where you cannot follow … ever
… so much, which could have been, lost …
they want
you want
now
I want
conjugation of a verb
conjugal… verbs…
next to each other,
they exist
related,
but unique
Michele Baron
2. Bacha Posh
Free myself of isolation chains
all obscurity surrounding my mind
the walls that deny existence
open now the entrances of liberty
let me be a self beyond the curtains
that blinds all light, dampening the spirit,
for a bird is about to die!
I will gladly hide my soft curves
while the fresh air hits my face
with the flavor of danger
the sting of manhood
ruling the world.
*bacha posh – dressed up and disguised as a boy.
Refers to a cultural practice in which a daughter is sent off into the world as one of the boys.
Luz María López
3. Destiny
I am dying inside
Slowly, silently
The lights switch off
Darkening one corner, then another
One piece at a time
The web of scar tissue,
Creeping further, covering more.
The ache, intrinsic,
Seeping deeper
My bones melt.
What ails me, what hurts?
Unexplainable,
The questions tumble
The tears spill,
The wet tracks…silent answers
In a language familiar…yet not.
Subtle slights fight inattention
For their day in the sun
And I am no more
Just a shadow
That waits for a drop of sunshine
To unfurl, to claim
That which is my destiny.
Harshali Singh
4. Me
My worth
Is not in your eyes,
But in my own glance,
And it’s more important to know
If I find myself
Worthy!
My identity
Is not in being
Connected to you,
But in being myself
And in your accepting me
The way I am!
My love
Is not in my body,
But in my soul,
And before I can learn
To love you,
I have to learn
To love myself
Fully and completely!
Neelam Saxena Chandra
5. Black Drops
She can still see you
her dreamed world
in which
she gave up dreams for love.
and now?
On her cheeks,
like rain
run down
the black drops of ink –
the rain of the soul.
with tears she wanted
To drown out her longings,
but she is unable to lose the memories.
like a camel with its water,
and so she –
carries the weight of the past.
Eliza Segiet
Translated by Artur Komoter
6.Woman
She is a woman
And able to do any task
Cooking cleaning laundering
Marketing
Taking care of her children
A single mother
By choice
Taking care of her aged parents
Walks and talks fast
To the point
As she is on a schedule
Wanting to show the world
She can successfully.
Then why the world
Looks down on him?
She is a woman of courage
Strength, vigor, and compassion.
For God’s sake
Leave her alone
To live the way she wants!
She is strong enough
To shoulder all
What she has to
And does with a smile
And gratitude to God
For making her strong
And sufficient.
She has no complaints
Walks with her head held high
Ignoring the remarks
She…
She is a woman
To be adored
To be respected
To be loved!
Sarala Balachandran
7. Forever Free
Tonight my Womb died
Shrunken shrivelled corpse
And all the flowers died within me.
My womb and the flowers decomposed together
Letting out one silent yelp
And a rotten stench…
Tonight I liberated myself
From every bond that held me dear
Now I had no fear
To march ahead
I am a tree trunk made of deadwood
My leaves are shed
When you killed my girl in my womb
I vowed not to die but to march ahead
Beyond fear beyond care beyond one’s self
To set her soul free
May my Girl live forever in me
Ipsita Ganguli
8. For Sale – A Poem
(From a Dalit woman)
I eat rats
and my skin is tawny;
I hold you gasping
in between my thighs, shrieking
till a dead woman;
My cheeks are hollow,
my eyes bulge
I wear the kohl of cremation
the water resides in me,
yet my breasts dry from a menstrual pause
I abjure, the mockery
on my itchy skin, age-old
I eat rats
My skin creases, there’s a
story behind my sagging breasts
stories that sob in my vagina, the effortless ones
to wallow in your lust and dust scraped effigies
there’s no blood on bridal beds for me
I am sentenced for life
these blank and ugly blotches
on my skin, are a concession to
the caste I wear, the skin I bleed.
Deeya Bhattacharya
9.The Immaculate Widow
Doused fire – singed pyre
Within; yet to be seen.
Draped in white, the yards trail behind
Pristine yarns, ballads of woven hymns
Embrace slender, supple spirits
moonlit silver arms
Look not yonder, commands stoic,
The ghat – the mute witness – to residue burn
Frolicking are the ones
Whose whites glow, laced with reds
Gold resplendent!
Caught amidst turmeric and penitence – an adieu, shouldn’t it suffice?!
Pacing footsteps on cold stone walls
drawn along verisimilitude halls…
There’s the well for one to dwell –
feelings multitude!
How else does one dunk the bucket and pull out one’s self!
Alas! White, I don
Untouched? Unscathed?
By whose norms one contemplates alone
Sudden so stark
Ebbed and surged with the mighty pall
Stowaway memories on fraying shelves
Pull up the garb
Cover sanity with grace, utter not; utter disgrace!
Lost cause on an emotionless refrain
When did Gardenia lose essence?
She retrospects
Such fondness for the Jasmine trails on tresses
Tonsured perfection now instead
Eyes weary dare not ask
Hidden gold in lemon blooms
The breeze carries the fragrance next door
While White remains in a silent uproar
Why now to voice a thought?
Scattered about are the jasmine buds
Devoid of henna – now in plain
Palms awash – saffron in milky stain
©Devika Raghave
10. A Dreamscape of Sugar Coated Concerns
Amidst the heat and weight of lauding
Glories of Women’s Day;
Contemporary realities of life
It’s unchanging configurations
Of thought, emotion, sound, and word
Remain muzzled beyond repair.
The painted girl at the till
Accoutered in smart black trousers
Fitted blue shirt and cherry pink lips
Smiles dully at the customers arriving late
Buying frenzy of clothes and accessories follows
She could never afford to wear
Her salary having too many claimants
Wiping lipstick, heavy makeup, untying styled hair
Cinderella dons her ordinary shalwar suit
A late shift followed by a long commute
She cooks and cleans for a family
Full of quarrel and scorn.
The faded child bride
Heavily pregnant with the third
Leaves her two infants
Unattended on the sand pile
Two tall rows of bricks on her head
She squints at the high rise building taking shape
Reaching the summit
She shies away from the clutches of the hirsute overseer
A salty trickle wets her cheeks
Unable to dream the impossibility
Of a safe home of her own.
With such knotted skeins in life
These women on the margin
Go unheard, unseen
The sugar coated concerns
Pushing boundaries on red-tape files
Without meaning, what they should mean!
Mamta Joshi
11. And I Testify
I
Whither away all the trees once they hibernate in water
and your heart withers away,
the heartbeat pendent on the highest offshoot…
II
When the eyes of the sky fall into the water
I came to know that green is more akin to the pain than the black
and that unforgiveness was what was oozing out of that crock
I counted how many times the scorpion whirled towards the ashes
inside the circle of scarlet flame
III
The golden daffodil under the naked tree
the purple hyacinth falling out of my hair,
the lace on the weaving loom,
would it know how hard it is to be cleansed from the scarlet?
while carrying the fire in your palm…
IV
Here I am,
in the shadow of your countenance
in the silence of flowing nothingness
And I testify…
that the cracks in my walls
can only be plastered with solitude
V
And now-
one must die like a dead tree leaning on a river bank,
close to heavens, far away from you
One must die…
Nevin Koçoğlu
12. She: a dilemma/a solution
Those thousand existing twinges
Her irresistible giggles redressed.
An affable warmth roused, with
Blazes of her eyes…
In the total chaos, in endless havoc
Her perfervid self-rested…
She possessed a soul that ran
Deeper than a black hole..
The heiress of a priceless heart
Inheriting a cosmos of her own.
She stopped for everyone
But waited for none…
As simple as an understanding
As complex as a paradox
….The World wasn’t ready for her…!
©Monika Ajay Kaul
13. Middle East
1/
It lulls the history on its feet since it gave birth to it,
it combs louse from its hair with human ribs
2/
Skirts of the cities are scattered by desert winds
over stone courtyards, mosques, ancient squares,
vaulted streets which always lead to one another
A smell of ground coffee, spice, and gunpowder
roasts on same coals:
sands cover the blood, but cannot wash…
3/
Names of God written to the desert
are savagery, ignorance
Children are born and die
famine is their destiny, diarrhea is their fate:
grudge does not make a wish…
4/
In the desert night
cold, belief and family consensus
warm up backing in one another:
even if they are killed, Bedouin felt
does not penetrate blood …
5/
The women are bought and sold
in exchange for a camel
They are circumcised from life:
their faces are tattooed to men,
hearts are harvester…
Hilal Karahan
14.Then, Why?
Sometimes in my father’s garden
I am a charming flower
Nurtured with lots of love and care.
Sometimes I’m a sister,
Sometimes a loving daughter,
Sometimes I am a wife
And a caring mother,
Love my family more than any other.
Then why this gender inequality
Why this dominating gesture?
Have you justified
Have you thought ever?
Why this domestic violence,
The curse-like dowry by some
Inhuman-like creature?
Wake up! O, woman!
Know thyself and your nature,
Patience and tolerance are your
Utmost power, don’t let it be exploited
By some other.
Stand upright and get ready to fight.
To live an independent life is your right.
Sumana Bhattacharjee
15.Bounded Freedom
Which attire to wear? Today, I am being celebrated,
The day is a sunny one, the skies so deep
The clouds so milky!
Why, if I could, I would have sat on the green grass
In a shady spot somewhere on the slopes of a mountain
And I would have indulged in loosening up my tight armor
So as to be myself for a while;
A child mesmerised by the gurgling of river water
A child enchanted by the freshness of the soil
A child ecstatic at the imagined shapes of clouds
A child connected to the soul of the Universe
A child, simply!
But since the society has its eyes glued on me,
I have to stand by my wardrobe
And choose which attire to wear
For even if, on this day, I am being celebrated,
I have to hide my real self
Yes, I have to show that I am strong,
having no needs, ready to abide,
To fight even and to be a painting hung on a wall
Meant to be admired by one and all!
Even in this advanced age,
I feel not free to be
Rather, I feel that I have to show
Yes, show that I have no tears when I cry in hiding
Show that I am not weak when fear rules over me each night
Show that I am confident when I am ridden with anxiety
Show that I only have to give when I am, in fact, thirsty
Show that I am fierce when I crave to act as per my softness
Show that I am abiding when I only wish to tolerate with a smile!
Which attire to wear? Wish I not to attract sinful glances over me
Wish I not to seem too sissy, wish I not to seem slutty
How to abide, how to breathe, how to thrive, when
During my celebrated day, I feel not free to be the woman that I am!
Anoucheka Gangabissoon
16.Paragon of Love
Women love to see a man’s soft, sensitive side
As a lone bird, soft winging, so restlessly on,
The smile that proves the parent to a sigh
The quietest need, by sun and candlelight
We’ve walked on this earth many times together
Age makes us translucent; it is too wide-awake,
Woman’s love entices all
Let us fill the earth with the fragrance of love
Something not everyone knows – how to love
It is the only thing that makes sense
Women are the paragon of love and power;
Like lightning’s that precede the mighty storm.
Dr. Brajesh Kumar Gupta “Mewadev”
17. Right from the Womb!
I am unwanted right from the womb
Disparaged for my gender
Born by chance and undesirable by will
Tagged as an albatross to humanity
Discriminated for the attributes that make me, me
Over generations, I had to prove my worth
But still, I am not the loved one
Again and again, I’m killed in the womb
Suffocated to death
Seldom given a chance
To catch a glimpse of the heart that yearned to see me born
For she was burnt for bearing one
Coercing her, want me no more
For she foresees the pathetic situation I would be in
Cursing the day she bore me and me born
But, would this all change for good
Not peripherally but deep down
Pray the day comes when I am not loathed as a piece of meat
Or despised as a vulnerable and a recessive trait
But accepted as a human and not identified by my gender
For I want neither to be superior nor dominant, but a human first
I want humankind to look at me and wonder
And to ponder if it was the right thing, whatever they did and do
For I cannot forget or forgive, the gruesome atrocities
That scarred my existence for decades
Why do they forget where they come from?
The humiliation the womb has to bear, to bear
Does it even matter to humankind, what it feels like not to matter anymore?
And to be called a petticoat or a skirt all the more?
Sailasree Potay
18. Her Melancholic Tale
Under the night sky with fluorescent heavenly bodies
Poignantly, she tells her tale
The tale which only I could perceive with ear
An excruciating one, which unveils the world around
Peeping through the window,
Saw tiny tots romping with glittered silica
Agonizingly said, – why can’t she?
The morning hours with loud vociferation
Of temple’s edification allure her
Even les enfant with barefoot and uncombed hair go
Agonizingly said – why can’t she?
At sweet sixteen she wore the veil
And the Vermilion bangles
Standing in front of a mirror,
She glimpses herself as crowned czarina
But those foggy nights
Made her image to despair
And suddenly fell the crown down
Foggy nights with dewdrops of dowry
Shove her to enslave in her own realm
Her harrowing tale made me cry inside the dark
Am the ephemera of my mom’s womb
I crave to stop those scary scissors
To oust me from my unborn home
Priyanka Priyadarshini
19. Ananku
Femininity that goes unaccepted, remains unforgiving
vengeance of Kamakhya in the month of Ashaad
The Brahmaputra devoid of ichor
corroding muliebrity till it shrivels into a vestigial flicker
Decades later, when lovers celebrate your womanhood
you fail to find beauty in yourself
no matter how long you gaze at the mirror
reflecting your glistening nakedness
after vigor of copulation
Half-hearted attempts to love what you could not accept
do nothing to assuage the annihilation
you fostered in the pit of your womb
sown by the discontent of your mother at your birth
reiterated into a receptacle of guilt
that outweighs rings of smoke you blow
by rolling joints of any self-esteem accrued
despite waging an endless war with hirsutism
We don’t always get to choose our battles
certainly not those that start with
a blade wedged against our necks
but end them we must, with Shakti striding atop
Femininity that goes unaccepted remains unforgiving
Nalini Priyadarshni
20. Mothers of the world
When I was a little girl, wearing frocks of lace,
My mother infused in me, love and grace.
When I grew up to be a mother,
Tried to bring, Love and laughter on my daughter’s platter.
Now as a grandmother, I try
To bring courage, compassion in my grandchild.
How many hats do we often doff
As daughter, sister, wife, grandmother and more.
The beauty that I behold now, close to my heart,
Is that of my mother, crossing eight decades and eight springs.
With her toothless smile and dim lit eyes,
Wobbling with a stick, taking tiny steps,
So dependent for all her basic needs.
Waiting…waiting and waiting, silently
When her prodigy finds time in busy schedules.
She is not just my mother,
But an epitome of all mothers in the world,
In their twilight years…calling a cuckoos song!
Who shall now become the beacon of strength?
A pillar of strength to assure and hold their hands!
Believe it or not; they are the sunshine and goldmines,
That the fabric of society, today stays intact.
Today they are here, tomorrow will be gone
So here’s a salute to all the mothers in their twilight years,
Salute to that woman who educates the society,
Salute to that womb that gives birth to the girl child,
Salute to the girl child that grows,
To shower love to humanity,
And the world to evolve.
Kiren Babal
21. A Unique Creation
She is the incarnation
Of beauty and to her nation
Ascends to the destination;
No doubt, a unique creation
Of God, in jubilation.
A woman is the loveliest flower
Decorated in our delightful bower
Sprinkling everywhere the sweet scent shower
Standing against the time’s power
With strength in an unfavorable hour.
Having strong will in her heart
With zeal and pride for her part
Facing the tempest’s strike she converts
Into greenery the panting desert
Defeating it in its dangerous sport.
With her knowledge great
To our hearts she emancipates
From time’s unbearable weight
Keeping our path straight
To the Goal Ultimate.
Alok Mishra
22. The Woman in Me
I asked the woman in you and me
What makes the contentment of thee
Your soul deeper than the depth of the ocean
Your tolerance, Wider and
Higher than space not in motion
You have treasured the beauty
Forever brimmed with duties
You are the unarmed warrior
Made by God the saviour
You take sufferings and pain
Yet all your sacrifices in vain
I asked the woman in me
What makes you tolerate
the humiliation
the devastation
She smiles with the tears
Winning all the fears
And says
My loving lord
Has bestowed in me
His divine blessings of love
Forgiveness and compassion
Unconditionally
To make this world living
Full of passion.
Aarti Mittal
23. Hide and Seek
In the darkness, his fingers can see.
They fast track the hidden skin.
They pose and fly and fly and pose
like a very busy bee.
With unquenchable hunger, they rummage
under the blankets for an oasis to drink.
Their thirst ends when they get as hot as matches lit.
They obey nothing but the flesh. Delusions grow big!
An old new game: The awakening of the sleeping bud
or simply the new version of bedtime hide and seek.
A stallion with no bit traverses the meadow nightly.
And a butterfly whose flight is cut short.
Over a lava river, her wings will fall.
Tomorrow we will play more, daddy exhausted grins.
Tomorrow we will play when mom is asleep.
The girl inside me is torn to pieces.
How much more will be broken before the break of dawn?
A scream clogs her throat.
There is no one, no place to go.
The silent scream echoes in her bedroom,
It echoes in the closed windows, in the distance,
it is carried by the wind.
It echoes in the hopelessness and hollowness
in this busy modern world.
Can you not hear her cry for help?
It echoes, echoes all over the world and deep inside me!
Zulma Quinones Senati
24. Burning Issue
Look!
A gullible girl.
She firmly stands at the time
when life seems the futile whirl.
Her agile eyes shine
like a seashell pearl.
The Coral reef of warm sea
like her lips smiles.
Smiles, after seeing
some known & unknown faces.
She feels herself
with a glimpse of joy.
But an unexpected fear exists.
Her expectancy of faith diminishes.
Diminishes, from the brutal society
if just for a while.
Suddenly, I stop my muse
to work on the same –
Why some of the girls become a puppet
of cruel hands??
©Durgesh Verma
25. Proud to be a Woman
By wrapping my depressions in an envelope,
I sent it to the sky to find my creator…
The wish was, at least, He should read what a woman thinks
This waiting for His reply was not at all painful,
I was satisfied by my action, that I could raise my voice.
In the womb of gliding moments,
Over the blank canvas that He gifted,
I am rewriting the history
Of our all hidden achievement.
I swear,
Besides us, the woman,
Earth would not be earth,
Love would not be love,
Relations would not be relations.
I am proud to be a woman
Sarojini Pattayat
26. A woman in a Cell
What’s hot?
A bare belly or the short dress
Whom do you call hot, I ask truly?
Retired arms click ‘sexy’ without even conversing
Did you read her, from her shaped belly?
Or did you just imagine her with you?
What’s natural for you when you feel nothing.
You just see the small part of her entirety
Did you dance with her to drink the tunes?
Or did you just slice your thoughts into the part called ‘hot’?
Tick tick tick, muscles seldom relax after seeing her
Reluctantly they step on a mature arm but get scared
Scared of the how similarly a mature and young mind thinks
As if the picture is meant to feel the desire of lust
Did you pluck a rose for her?
Did you read a story to her in a silent library?
Did you walk miles with her towards the setting sun?
Did you thrill her by singing your mother’s song?
Did you solve for her the puzzles, invisible in the picture?
Did you stop her from stepping in wrong arms?
Did you click the same words with a hot cup of tea?
Did you slide off the lust to show your love?
Then what makes you feel that you have the word ‘hot’
In your scattered vocabulary?
Several lenses mould together to make her a voice of femininity
And you figure out the revealing part synonymous with ‘hot’
Should I laugh at the scarcity of your education?
Or should I feel pity for the face that you bear now?
Kabir Deb
27. Dear Woman
When will you break your silence
When can we hear the story
Of your unthinkable journey
Of the things you’ve seen,
Of the winds that have blown
Dear woman!
When will we hear your tale,
The secret of your magic game
The shape of a daughter and then of sister
The shape of wife and then of mom
And then again completely formless
Dear woman!
How much we want to hear your magic
How much we want to read your poetry
How much we want to see your dance
Please reveal to us the story
The secret of your private art
Women!
Epitomised love and beauty
Made for us to be adored
Many days they shine for us
But too often they’re ignored
The more we let them in our heart
The more we open our mind
The more love in our life
All of us will find
Rina
28. An Ode to Womaniya
I will not conform to your ideals
I am a married woman
But I love ogling at good looking men
I love my drinks when they are mixed well
And I love riding a Harley!
I will not conform to your ideals
I am a mother of two
But I enjoy my sexuality and my desires
And express them the way I want to
I love my body, stretch marks, scars and moles
I will not conform to your ideals
I am a working woman
But I enjoy housekeeping too
I do it not because I’m a woman
But because I’m proud of my home
I will not conform to your ideals
I am a wife
But I will decide when someone can touch me
Caress me and make love to me
And I will do it on my terms
I will not conform to your ideals
I am a daughter and a daughter in law
But I will not give in to everyone’s whims and fancies
I will stay firm in my choices
And I will do it out of respect for myself
I will not conform to your ideals
I am a sister and a sister in law
But I will not be bullied
I will speak my mind openly
And I will not give a fuck if you disagree
I will not conform to your ideals
I am a woman
I cannot be expected to fit
I have way too many hands
And way too many heads
I am a woman
And hence I cannot conform
I am gentle, yet strong, at will and might
I am quiet, yet my voice can reach across oceans
I am meek, yet I can stand my ground
I am warm, yet I can freeze hell over
I am calm, yet I can be the tempest
I am soft, yet I can plough a field
I am a woman and I cannot fit into any ideal!
Meenakshi
29. Woman
Yes, I can be Sati,
I can be Sita too!
But only and only if I want to be,
Not when you dictate the terms to me!
And why should you?
You do not own me…
For I am my own master you see,
Uniquely created by the creator,
Not to be shackled,
Nor fettered
By you or your societal norms,
Problems! You are welcome to stay with them,
Ah! Let me tell you that I have problems too,
Problems with the way you look at me,
Drool and salivate at my physique,
I have a problem when you have a problem with my mini skirt,
Or my drinks; or even if I at times flirt!
If you are free to do as you will,
Do not you see that so am I
Being a woman does not make me any less,
In fact, I am much more,
Much more than just this body, the boobs or vagina,
I am the woman who has stepped forward,
Reached the moon and the stars,
I am the queen who creates and can also destroy,
Remember, I am the mother who brings you forth into this world,
So let me be, just let me be,
Do not penetrate deep into me, do not hurt me more,
Lest I pick up the cudgels for myself
And you are then transformed into dust, just mere dust!
Madhumita Bhattacharjee Nayyar
30. Womanhood
Waving gracefully with wanton winds, her sails drape her womanhood, as she nurtures love, braving tempests that rattle her engorged bosom,
On and on she buoys herself with relentless tides of moons, waxing and waning with seasons that leave her ageless, in a polarized chasm,
Mermaid bewitching she floats a dream in the eyes of Kings and beggars alike who desire to crown her and later dethrone her resilience, with their patriarchal dictum,
A vessel sleek is she cutting through choppy seas, leaving a wake of constructive chaos creating gems in depths of oceans you cannot fathom,
Nestling an entire earth in a creative saga oh woman, never to be drowned, auctioned, beached in the whirlwinds of the microcosm or the microcosm.
Hovering over creation she drones a hymn of a universal hum in a language transcending realms of disparity, beyond a schism,
Outshining every star on the horizon there she stands triumphant like a beacon, letting light pass through her heart prism,
Outpouring like a fountainhead her emotions rule her in vibrant colours, as she paints her life with spontaneous enthusiasm,
Drowning all her pride she swallows grief and injustice caused to her till like a tectonic plate she shifts, her sob causing a quake in a spasm.
Geethanjali Dilip
31. A Far Cry!
Woman’s Day.
Is that a statement of a state of affairs?
Or a questioning cry that wails about the hypocrisy of human nature?
Every moment makes me feel less of a woman,
More of a prey that vultures brutally wish to feed upon.
Every walk outside, an open invitation to molestation of my insides.
My emotions ramble on, muttering, grumbling, lamenting,
Pleading for justice in an unjust world.
Know not which yuga we reside now in (does it even make a difference?).
All I can call it is The Dark Age where the womb is torn apart
To satiate lust, where a woman no longer a mother, sister, wife
But a creature, an unending black hole taking in hurt, savagery, strife.
Draupadi, Sita happened not very long ago it seems.
Their modern-day versions play the same roles again and again.
No girl child safe to celebrate a day just for her breed, her gender.
Broadmindedness of lifestyle today performs an autocorrect
Of thoughts, perception, of interpretation of life itself.
What seemed a value, a principle restricted to word on paper.
Sex no longer a beautiful union, a breeze that slaps gently against your face.
Semen balloons used today to celebrate.
Woman’s Day.
A misleading expression.
A slander to womanhood!
Shail Raghuvanshi
32. A Woman is a Flower
A woman is a flower
To be watered only with
Tender hands of affection
She is the soft dew
Of dawn’s promises
A woman is a blessing
Rich with the assurance
Of procreation
A woman is a sweetness
Filled with the alluring
Charms of giggles
A woman is all it takes
To know love
A woman is all it takes
To know heaven…
Edidiong Bassey
33. Deflowered
And her little hands again banged
on my car window.
She had the bunch of flowers still
clutched close to her heart.
And just the other day you bought
those wildflowers from her.
Softly touched my blushed skin
with their stalks.
She was happy too.
She had smiled at the money earned.
I smiled too, for the love
your flowers brought.
A whiff of fragrance.
It again wafted through the north wind today.
I rolled the windows down as my car came to a halt.
She stretched her hands out, looking for you.
Her smile vanished.
The seat by me was empty.
Her eyes met my vacant ones.
She tore the petals, her head bowed.
A teardrop trickled down on my lap
Where you had put the wildflowers
that day and made love!
Saheli Mitra
34. Doppelgänger
I often have a dream
of a woman in white
with yellow flowers in her hair
I think they’re daisies or sunflowers
I don’t know for sure
she stands atop a mountain
or is it a hill? I’ve no idea
annihilation
oblivion
nothingness
sway at her feet
she walks the edge, her arms stretched
graceful
a ballerina taking centre stage
for a final swansong
I think I know her, but I’m not sure
her eyes are the same as mine
I think, or am I mistaken?
I stand rooted
my petrified arm dying to
touch
cling
hold on
to her
or myself, I don’t know.
Rita Bhattacharjee
35. Tattoo
I went with my daughter to get
her a tattoo for a present.
She chose a rising wave
breaking free of a box…
and I thought that’s great,
because you know, mostly
men get to ride the waves
oblivious that women are drowning
in work and housework, and
children and parents.
Things that have a strong emotional undertow
just pull you in. I felt every scrape
of the needle on her tender,
translucent skin, searching her
face carefully for pain,
ready to kill the tattoo artist if he made a mistake
stepping out to hyperventilate
smoke a strained cigarette,
fervently praying that SHE
breaks all the boxes, that she
rides the surf better than I did.
I try to think what tattoo would
hold meaning for me, if I could
let a needle draw my faith upon
my body. I’d probably get Kali,
broad hipped, wild-haired, wide
bottomed the way real Goddesses
are, with a wheatish complexion,
but not at all homely.
I’d like to have her
dancing upon my wrist,
laughing the way a Goddess laughs
when she has killed all her demons.
A beer in one hand,
brandishing a ladle in the other,
fingers of the third prancing across
a keyboard to write a song.
A gun in the fourth just to be safe
but held out of the way of harm.
In her fifth hand, I’d have a bar of vanilla soap,
and of course, a book of stories
in the sixth hand, for in the end
we are all just stories.
Kali would hold up one hand in warning,
or perhaps just to hail a
cab, and the last would be kept free
for caresses and comfort,
This would be ME, who has
killed all her demons,
she who scoffs at all the petty lures
of insecure Gods,
she who is done with meting out
justice, and now wants to
let the wind dance in her silvered hair.
Payal Talreja
36. Woman’s Vital
Far from weak, she barges ahead with strength
Not as a ship caught in a storm that would struggle
But as a star in the darkness at length
Amidst daily chores that seem a juggle
Kids robbing most hours, she complains not a bit
Unceasing her focus on family,
At home a master, at a job she submits
Dynamic, seems like robot accomplished
As king treats her man pleasing him no end
Dazzling beside her spouse, swanlike beauty
Intelligent, inspiring she contends
Exceptional, vital, she stands mighty
Efficient in all fields, in air, sea, land
These days, in world affairs, sense her presence,
Deserves special respect each woman
The world would cease to exist in her absence
Sunila Khemchandani
37. The Unapologetic Dance
Sometimes she gets scared,
Of the erupting lava of truth,
Gushing out of her being,
The threatening burst,
Collapsing the rigid structures around,
And she shudders and stops,
To avoid the fingers pointed,
Covers herself with every possible layer,
Silence, Submission, Subjugation,
To alienate from Chameleons,
Who distort everything that’s good,
She ever believed in,
That world of intellectual hypocrites,
She sneaks into alternate realm,
A world of her love,
Where they say what they feel,
Then and there,
All travel light,
They dance and yes they fight,
A world of absolute nakedness,
Where there aren’t any veils,
An ecstatic tribe celebrating the now,
A world where they don’t measure,
Her worth, her big trunk,
Where they don’t measure,
The length of her skirt,
Her claim to be an heir,
The days, years and her lifetime,
Where she flows careless being a waterfall,
Not knowing which river she merges into,
She just flows and dances
Ecstatic, being unapologetic.
Meenakshi M. Singh
38.Women
In the bargain of life, it’s their lot to give,
And yet be grateful for being allowed to live;
For the female foetus dies before birth
And the girl child quietly fades from earth.
As a mother, mistress, wife, and maid,
For the pleasure of man, she’s made.
From acid attacks, stalking, and rape
How do these hapless victims escape?
Many a Gayatri, Gunjan, Gauri
Have been sacrificed for dowry.
With her man, she toils and earns
Yet, for spending power, she yearns
Nutrition for childbearing she needs,
Yet, the choicest meal, to him she feeds;
A barren woman they quickly replace
For, many are waiting to take her place.
And if daughters are all, that she delivers
In disgrace, she hides, cowers and quivers
Each breath is beholden to his breath.
For a widow’s life is worse than death
What amazes is, the acceptance of might,
The reluctance to rebel put up a fight.
But women, by and large, have no choice,
For those like me, who raise their voice
To question mothers-in-law and misters,
Fare worse than their submissive sisters.
But the last ounce of strength I’ll gather,
And whip the horses of my will to lather.
If I can light a flame in but one woman
I’ll consider my work on this earth, done;
For when I falter and fall, others will rise
To carry my torch, towards a new sunrise.
Excellent work
Keep it up
Wow
“I asked the woman in you and me
What makes the contentment of thee.”
BEAUTIIIIIFUL
“When will you break your silence
When can we hear the story”
Outstanding. Really each and every line is compiled with truth.
Lovely honestly Reena only if I had known you as a woman who possessed such talent I would have gone out of my way to know you better and get closer to you literature wise.
Keep it up dear.. love you.
i will take two line from you,
The more we open our mind
The more love in our life…
lesson of life…
MY HATS OFF !! SUCH INSPIRING POEMS TOUCHES THE INNERMOST CHORD OF YOU HEART