The door closed behind her; Nangema looked back
The last rites are over…………
Alone in the wilderness……….
A living dead body.
To another world..? Is there is another world..?
A bundle of wronged life hugged to her chest
Whose wrong? Of destiny’s? Of innocence?
Of human frailty? Of human strength?
Nangema thought; The door did not close
For the one who tore her life to pieces
Centuries pass; but Nangemas are still Nangemas
The owner of scarlet letters…
Destroyed, defeated, dejected, desolate………
Caressing my unborn daughter
Many more incarnations in my mind…
Panchalis not able to resort to another Krishna
Sitas not able to leap into fire
And my granny with tears
Dripping on the betel leaves
The women with starving children
Endlessly waiting for the staggering steps
And uncivilized uttering
Knee – deep in the dirt, life in mire
Smell of mud is dissolved in her body
Two hands rocking the saree – candle on the branches
Always afraid of thunder and rain
And the mid – day sun
The others, with tear-soaked dreams
Waiting to fill their purses
And ladies, sobs welled up inside
Appear in frills and laces
Two eyes peeping through the kitchen door
Wiping hands on the sooty dress
The foster-mothers, pushing ball rice into the little mouths
To be abandoned……
African women bending under the weight of firewood
With two children in and out
Huddled among a leap of vessels
They live for others only
A princess on a palanquin
A rare sight……..only on reels
And me and me and me too…….
The heaviness of being……….
The earth – detached
Absorbs all the sweat
Swallows all the sobbings
To flourish nature with greenness
Thunder, lighting, heat, light and strength
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