Wednesday, 10 November 2010

Feminine grief

Boiled pain is there

To chew in

Sour juice

Of poverty is there

To drink in

Dead dreams are there

To caress

Blanket of fear

Is there to sleep in

Kids of hope

Are not there

To sing lullaby

First sight

Of husband

Is not there

To get up from sleep

No truth, no justice

No righteousness, No coins

To dress up

Not even the Sindoor

Of tomorrow

To spill on the hairline

Nobody is there,

Not a Banyan tree

Or even a sheet

To give shade

No sandal

To tread the path

Of hot sunny days

No green leaves

No drinking water

To quench the heat.

By Ismail Meladi

Sindoor: A red powder used by Indian women to spill on their hairline, which means that they are married.

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