Mou Mukherjee Das

Mou Mukherjee Das Poems

I was born on a windy night-
When the clock stroke twelve
Under the starry sky,
In a tarpaulin covered tent.
...

Times change-circumstances change
But the question that keeps on haunting
"If only".
...

Girl friends-
I have many
Don't ask me the numbers
They remind me of my limitations
...

4.

A pregnant pause,
A terrifying pain,
A stagnant time,
A faint ray of hope,
...

The pundits were chanting mantras
The relatives were crying
The smoke bellowed from the chimneys seamlessly
The dogs were searching for food
...

Old are the leaves of a tree,
that wither away-
Old are the flowers,
that bloom for a day.
...

Life is a long winding dream.
Dreams that share its space-
with stark, dark realities.
Of unexpected twists,
...

The Best Poem Of Mou Mukherjee Das

Dalit Girl

I was born on a windy night-
When the clock stroke twelve
Under the starry sky,
In a tarpaulin covered tent.
Nothing new happened
Nothing changed
All seemed so very natural and plaintiff.
A woman from some old world
In shaking hands, with quivering voice
Declared my identity
A girl.

The whole world was deep asleep
Barring a few,
Those couple's locked in Lovelace
Thieves stealing into someone's house
New born babies in times of hunger
Crooked people devising strategic moves.
On that uneventful night
I was born.

Few days later my birth certificate
Confirmed once more my identity.
I am a girl.

I was six
My father took me to a village school.
I was once again provided a new certificate
This time by the panchayats
My identity was -
I am a Dalit.

Sitting at a corner in the school
I was banned by the upper caste girls.
In the market place boys maintained a distance.
I wondered why?

My parents stood at the end in the ration line
Waiting for their turn
In the village meeting, my parents were laughed at
for no faults of their own.
I wondered why?


Innocent questions were faced with flak.
With eyes wide, people were flabbergasted at my audacity
Parents felt embarrassed
Neighbors started avoiding.
Beaten, battered, bruised
An attempt was made to put me to silence.

My soul refused the chains.
The pangs of a bonded labor.
Every time.

I was eighteen
I was married off.
My marriage certificate had a new identity.
I am a woman now.
My husband was my guardian.


This time my identity bored
Red vermillion on my forehead
And a cloth on my head covering my face.
And again I wondered why?

Once more I was silenced.
Once more my soul tried to break free.

I am seventy now.
In the verge of death.
but still in place-
My alert mind
My fighting spirit
My unbattered soul
And an yearning to know.

I will be dead few years from now.
My death certificate will once again bear my identity.
I am a dead Dalit woman.

Surprised and hurt
I will never know why-
My certificate never mentioned-
I am a human too.

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