The Husband's Black Hands - Poem by Mallika Sengupta
The moment she tucks in the mosquito net and goes
to bed, her husband's black hands fumble after
the snakes and frogs of her body: 'You're hurting me!
Let go!' In anger, those black hands twist her breasts.
He says, 'Listen here, Sweta, don't be coy.
If ever I find even the evening star
gesturing to you, or making eyes,
I'll see that you fall into a hellish pit.'
Sweta's white thighs swing back and forth in space
clinging to the back, her husband's black back.
[Translated by Carolyne Wright and Paramita Banerjee]
Comments about The Husband's Black Hands by Mallika Sengupta
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You