Poem By Anuradha Datta
Out of one century other centuries rise
Death after death she simultaneously dies…
Always has she been considered a bad omen
The unjustified birth of a woman;
Her identity unquestioned
Her existence forever threatened
Her nature though described as frail
In her heart profound contemplations dwell…
An object taken for granted
By far disposed when not wanted.
Exposed and barred when required
Her self-respect still unacquired.
Her heart all wounded her face serene
Lost in a society of the mean! !
Her mind in conflict with her conscience
Her body remains calm out of obedience.
Her freedom subject to a man’s permission,
She fights warfare in every situation.
Her hope of liberation still a dream…
In the arms despondence she screams!
Her cries within her emptiness drown…
Life treats her like a Queen without a Crown! !
Referred to as a daughter, wife and mother
No one to call her an individual bothered,
She continues to be a friend to herself
For the family places her a like a showpiece on a shelf;
Her soft touch, her kind heart, her prayers for others…
Results in aguish, misery and vain desires,
All her desires leave her agonized
With it vanishes her yearn to be recognized.
With the taint of the original sin
The epitome of love loses her gleam,
Her genre forever marked as impious
The “I” in her unable to become a part of “us”
From the ashes of past ascends such beauty
And the chauvinistic world destroys it out of duty
Thus out of one century other centuries rise
After a death in search of a new life….