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This poem of Lopamudra is her strong protest in solidarity with the children/infants, who have suffered the onslaught of rape and sexual abuse.

Come to me, moondrop, in your clots and blood, 

Let me see you as the world dishes you,

In gory, titillating snippets of morning news. 

Come, sit in the dark room of my motherly lap, 

And though I can offer you only 

The indelible marks of the silver nitrate of my pain, 

Yet, sit, be purged, as I stroke your skin, 

Watering your vines, left to me,

And the sacred darkness engulfing us.

And while they scrutinize the darkness 

Behind bolted doors, sermonizing how time will heal,

how blisters could be a part of their agenda, 

Let me scald and burn some more in your ardent flames. 

Let me suck the strawberry juice from your drooling mouth 

Let me fill your tiny palette, your body’s cradle 

With cloudbursts of red wrath,

And my famished verses.

Poet’s Note: In solidarity with the growing numbers of infants, girl children being raped, abused sexually by sick psychos in India, which is raking up the angry flames within me. I know I can’t change anything by writing this, but still I couldn’t help writing this poem as an outrage / protest to the horrific crime perpetrated.

©Lopamudra Banerjee

Pix from Net.


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