I’ll weep to you about
My landlord, and with
My mature gestures—
You will understand:
The torn sari, disheveled hair
Stifled cries and meek submission.
I was not an untouchable then.

I’ll curse the skies,
And shout: scream to you
Words that incite wrath and
You will definitely know:
The priest, his lecherous eyes,
Glances that disrobed, defiled.
I was not polluting at four feet.

How can I say
Anything, anything
Against my own man?


So I take shelter in silence
Wear it like a mask.
When alone, I stumble
Into a flood of incoherencies. . .

(First published in Kritya)


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