Your fiery whiplash of stringed words,
aimed at demeaning me,
can’t scald the firmly stemmed will,
nor ash that rose, blooming each day,
fed inside, with light and rains,
My raging flame dissolves your iced rock
daring to force deeply dark, to shred petals,
reducing it to shivers,
like cold waters in winter nights.
Ego- tyrannies fail to press
on wishes, steeled by oppression,
even though my mud house collapses and I’m up,
to necking high waters.
My hollow nourishes flesh, to be breasted,
even patriarchy, at its crudest.
Abandoned, you could’ve died hungry …..
puny, vulnerable baby!
Even if I know what you’d be
Kindness is the natural me.
But don’t talk of love
only lust or procreation.
Tender mask often hides an innate sadist.
Yet love, my strongest weakness, still flunks me.
Tricks don’t play always.
Genuine feelings burgeon,
So I sweet- shackle myself. Enslaved. Happy slavery.
Often forever enslaved even if yours ebb.
Yet, torture, suppression, denials.
Oppression races and has been for centuries.
I was and am more than even
I, the Archetypal Woman!
Race me, but you cannot attain,
a mother’s joy in a birthing pain.
Author of three publications and poetry, short stories in various other magazines. Published poems and short stories in Bengali and English. Published articles and essays in various magazines. Satabdi Saha is an ex- professor of English in D.A. College, Kolkata.