I sent up a silent thanks to my parents for letting their two daugthers bloom into mothers and live to see the world ‘celebrate’ Women’s Day!
Something inside me turned on reading this poem by my sis!
Compulsory imprisonment in the gaol called womb,
Yet no voice in uproar.
The day of release announced,
Creation of Tiny Mother known;
When arrival assured, milk from creepers ooze!
Merely a-day-old Mother,
Her tears run in parallel streams
Her lullaby termed ambiguous.
And finally the day of doom postponed
For the arrival of Unholy Monk.
Oh Monday, How unfortunate!
He clutches her pale tiny fingers,
She’s dazed; Her long lashes flutter. . .
Her pale pinkness hides behind blue
As though poisoned sugar in purest milk.
A loud cry let out by the mother
In reply, the Girl Child lets out her breath. . .
Mankind! Don’t nip her as a bud
Or, you have murdered a mother.
-by Nithya Chander