Martyr Poem by Meena Kandasamy

A militant, whom my lines
cannot hold whom my lips
cannot kiss whom my eyes
cannot hide whom my memory
cannot mark with a date
of birth or even death.
No knowledge of her village
laid waste, then displaced and
no mention of her songs
seeking to seize a state and
no sigh of a red star where
she had stashed her dreams.
In this book of martyrs
only that blood-drenched
story in three bold words:
'One Woman Comrade'
to say she died fighting
for the people.