That blurry morning of nineties,
ooze from between the trees
I reached to her doorsill,
to fulfill her daughters will.
I locked and unlocked the door,
that mother at once hear me roar
She was done with a grill chore,
And allowed me to squat on the flour.
Oh mother of million smiles
Your patience is Devine for us
But how are you still afloat,
heaving heavy over this hell.
When all yours have sailed the boat,
and are doing very well-
Oh boy, how precocious,
your faith is unwavering.
Tell me the reason,
I m a morning person-
Oh mother of million lullabies,
I had had a dream.
This makes me wear every sight
She is your dead daughter
Who makes me tear every night.
Oh boy I am not shameless
She was so precious,
But we had to conquer our destiny,
That is why she rode to eternity-
Oh mother of million thoughts
Your nurture is truth to us,
But how did it all happen?
Victim your daughter became.
She is up in the heaven now
Filled with tears now
She wanna tell this world now
Don't make her unheard now.
Oh boy be courageous,
life is unfair.
Sometimes we can't bear,
This was a feeling, I could never share.
The cold was searing and engulfed the souls
The cockcrows were heard but with a mournful knoll.
Oh mother of million Identities,
Your stoutness is authority to us.
You have held it for years now.
Speak up, unmask those sinsters now.
OH boy listen to this atrocity.
This is an awful story;
That night was dark and never really end
We were alone when those demons descend-
They banged the door and got themselves in.
They ransacked the house and tempt souls to sin.
My daughter was courageous and shouted, oh Indian skin
Your tenure is short, get out to your hell bin.
That officer was violent and dashed potted pitcher on us
My vision became blurry as he usurps us.
Oh God! Oh lord! I seek your forgiveness
Oh God! Oh lord! I seek your forgiveness
Oh God! Oh lord! Save us from their onslaught.
Oh God! Oh lord saves us from their wicked plot
We are attacked, hindered and restrained.
Give us the strength, Give us the courage.
Give us the armor that we need to wear
Conquer these demons with your spiritual warfare.
I fall unconscious and dare not to see.
Oh my almighty, what you have done to me
I was nobody as lightening flashed
A deserted mask and my spirit clashed.
It was only after morning when I disgust humanity
My daughter was dead as a disguised calamity.
Oh Boy, ; I have no more plaintive cries,
Oh Boy, make sure that this sacrifice will never fetch sighs,
Write my heart, Write my blood.
Hope, that tingling should trigger your knowing,
Your existence should always justice our suffering
You should never leave the scene unanswered.
You should never lament our sufferings uncovered.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Very difficult to read, structurally. I hope I comprehend the intent, I have several poems of this nature. In one sense, this is a brutal as the mentality it conveys. That is an attribute of both sincerity & isolation, but it's heavy with isolation. I'd suggest comforting this piece within the horror. If you'd bare me a moment, please, check out one of my poems for Woman/Mother: We Are All To Be Murdered; Without The Womb of a Woman; Prostitute; Female; Young Girl; Native Daughter; Mother Moon. Any one of these represent my own attempts at this monumental challenge. The only thing holding our poems back are ourselves, the more brutal, the more difficult to share. So never forget why you write. And, perhaps my poem for India (I know, I know) , may be of interest to you as well. Keep writing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very difficult to read, structurally. I hope I comprehend the intent, I have several poems of this nature. In one sense, this is a brutal as the mentality it conveys. That is an attribute of both sincerity & isolation, but it's heavy with isolation. I'd suggest comforting this piece within the horror. If you'd bare me a moment, please, check out one of my poems for Woman/Mother: We Are All To Be Murdered; Without The Womb of a Woman; Prostitute; Female; Young Girl; Native Daughter; Mother Moon. Any one of these represent my own attempts at this monumental challenge. The only thing holding our poems back are ourselves, the more brutal, the more difficult to share. So never forget why you write. And, perhaps my poem for India (I know, I know) , may be of interest to you as well. Keep writing this, it's not done.