I'll kill my body the way it kills me Slurp slash swing Sweet gore for no audience but me A boy's wet dream I spill out with my stretch marks My breasts are uneven Belly bulging softly, too much Hyenas of men paste their eyes, at will. I spend all day scrubbing them off Their tongues wagging for a sickly touch I should kill my urge to kill Unwanted eyes ungodly stares Unwanted men everywhere I sit frozen, still.
It was a large house
Airy, marbled, and windowed colourfully,
With gaudy furniture reeking of dowry;
It was a large house
Ornamental, but not beautiful,
Spacious and narrow-minded.
“Here is my living room, Vaani
The curtains are lavender for you
Take care of them, love,
This city is a den of pollution”,
He shakes his head;
“That is our bedroom, and I must say
Your parents bought a nice king-sized,”
And he flashes a slick smile;
“Those two rooms are
For our first and second sons,
They will be fair and beautiful,
Just like you,” he grins,
“You look even more lovely
When you blush”
“Where’s the kitchen?”
“Why the hurry? Here it is
That’s the room you’ll spend your life in
Because, frankly speaking, I can only make tea.”
I am looking for opulence The tags of success Houses, cars, and a bank balance heavier than a grieving heart Looking for all of it Of course, with my eyes shut How pretty it feels To be a careerist woman The glossy air of perfumed professionalism No more the stench of burnt rice and messy lentil soup How else to be equal to man? I haven’t got a plan yet (God forbid someone finds me out) Without a gold-aimed focus, what will I be? Just a girl waiting for the shehnai A gold-digger whose housework fails to fall under GDP To be looked down upon contemporaries To be ruled over by the smug elders There’s no room to aim for minor roles We should only look for big things Superimpose our sight with the really feminist aspirations No more petty positions You can be Lady Macbeth Let your ambition kill you But never the reverse Of course, I’m still thinking And looking With my eyes shut Padma, Qayanat, Lakshmi and Sheila Have all the doors already shut to them While I bicker in my cocooned metropolis While I compare my feminisms While I waste my words on them and myself So before I open my eyes To inevitably jump into the rat race Running to be equal To finally be a modern adult A modern Indian woman, Let me for one last time Dream of smallness Where I travel throughout the land Settle anywhere, work anyhow Just enough to keep alive Free as a bird Without any man or an elder snatching away my wings Terrorizing my honour; Free as rippling wind Strong enough to turn into a storm anytime I choose A wishful wanderer let loose Let me dream of simplicity Let me be.
mimimusing 