Be A Bud Anew - Poem by Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
She stands over there a widow,
Aloof, like a barren meadow,
Having lost her stand and beauty,
And is flung to melancholy.
With the loss of solid mountain,
Went away the placid fountain,
Leaving abrupt her cup empty
Of love and sweet, once aplenty.
Her presence is now a bad omen.
Her sari, the rainbow, turned white.
She went graceless lest she must excite.
Is she lust-less, to be sexless?
Ere wedding, was there she alone;
Even now, as a widow, she’s alone.
Once a solitary mansion,
Now she is a lonely grave.
She is set to lament and mourn
Ever-long, without a happy end,
Though in no way can it lighten
The loss of her pair. Why, then, to pretend?
Which widow, save corrupt one, unwept
Over the fate to which she was put,
With choked lust having no outlet,
Other than duress she went through?
Youth in prime, charm is still unshed.
Lust to brim, thirst is still unfed.
Hard would be she to stay the wicked
Were she destined to never re-wed.
Women’s eyes upon her conduct,
Men’s spicy eyes upon her neglects,
If she is to rebel, men will spurn;
If she is to yield, men will ride.
There comes spring to trees, when leaf-less.
Also comes monsoon to grass, when list-less.
None comes to her, who went mate-less,
And was thrown an orphan, name-less.
When a pot is lost another is bought.
When a hut is lost one more is built.
While a mate is lost no one is sought
To tender her lust, otherwise a beast.
A widow is not a left-over,
As a poem read is not leftover.
A portrait is fresh to everyone.
A mother’s breast is alike to her next child.
She is unlike the one as had deserted
Her husband, as furtively flirted,
Or as had her child by him fostered:
A lived villa, not a spit apple.
Over years virgins married widowers.
Without tears they lived in fervour.
For her cheers, let her get the same favour
from a man of choice to restore her flavour.
No animals keep their spouses in widowhood.
Why is, then, this invention on womanhood?
She better be sanctified before having erred
So that she could lead a life, unblurred.
Let her wed, anew,
‘as though a rose shut
and be a bud, again’
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