Mathew Thomas

A Hundred Deaths - Poem by Mathew Thomas

Becoming a woman,
Songs sung dry,
I walked to the bazar,
Men smiled with eyes that gore,
Cold icicles of stares,
That no fleece could warm,
Leers had grown,
Like creepers entwining my soul,
The weight of looks,
Opaque lust,
Bore my body down,
To hide my breasts,
Wished they disappeared,
And died a hundred deaths.

Nuptials at fourteen,
Toe rings and nose pin,
And sacred vermillion,
The thread around my neck,
A weighted stone,
Not the malignant aunts,
Not the songs, whistles or leers,
Not the millstone,
That shackled;
But in the weight of lust,
The birth of a girl,
Not a boy;
I hid my shame,
And died a hundred deaths.

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

This is what happens in most of the cities and villages in India. Girls as young as twelve and thirteen are married of before the legal of marriage and the preference for the male child are contributory factors for female infanticide. It also surprising to note that women themselves prefer to a large extent male child in India, due to obnoxious practice of dowry.

© Mathew Thomas

Comments about A Hundred Deaths by Mathew Thomas

  • (8/30/2012 7:57:00 AM)

    The ordeal of suffering the Indian experiences has equations in the Caribbean lands and Africa. The need for a universal panacea has to be in the prime concern. Thanks for being frank and for pondering... (Report) Reply

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  • (8/30/2012 7:51:00 AM)

    A poem that reveals the ordeal of suffering that a generation of the little angels experience ever. The poem deserves to be lauded for its enlightening element towards a new resolution to be designed (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Poem Edited: Monday, August 27, 2012

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