The Indian Widow Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

An Indian widow, passes she her days in anonymity,
Living in a mud house
With goats and cows,
Passing her life somehow
With a great difficulty.

She wants to eke out a living of her
But the vlillagerly patriarchal men will not let live
A life of her own,
A poor and simple woman
And that too guardianless

What will she do all alone,
Fighting against tradition and its imposition,
Patriarchy and its dominance,
A woman illiterate and uneducated.

She cannot make a living of her own
Of her own choice,
And she has to go by, abide by
The rules and norms fixed by society
And the lakshman-rekha cannot cross it at all.

Fish, meat and other hot cereals,
Even turmeric, garlic and onion,
She is not at allowed to take,
And to wear the red-bordered sari
And coloured bangles, this too is prohibited for her.

And now you can guess about her life,
The ways and means of her poor and simple life,
Her lands too under the purview of many poachers
Who go on poking and poaching into,
As I know it, come to feel it
They will not let you live so simply.

An Indian widow, the upper caste widow,
She, I fear it within, may be called a witch
By the superstitious village folk
And to be seconded by the astrologer-cum-palmist,
As for making subservient and lowly,
To keep her under their prowess.