You, The Brute. Poem by Binayakumar Mohanty

The village lady
with dirty and rugged wear
returns from wood,
for long been
without food
carries on the head
heavy bundle of fuel wood
with the support of arm at right
the child in cloth swing
tied to the waist on the left
gives her a curved gait.

Her wrinkled bra
with multiple turn
fails to hold tight
lotus bud like breast
near the chest
swayed in front
visibly emerging areola and nipple
what is her fault
that your eyes goes covetous and cripple.

Her eyes shrunken
as if senses forgotten
naughty winds flying
away of her wear remaining.

Your sensuous arrow
hit the sparrow
killed down
Sees not her sorrow and pain within
You the mean
You the brute.

I want to shoot
I want to shoot.