Saturday, June 25, 2016

Summer 2016

You are draped over a chair
Painful beams of sunlight sting your eyes
There are books you have taken with you
From all the running around, the errands,
Growing up had exposed the grown ups
And their grown up powers as a charade/sham
You no longer trust it to hold you
It’s almost amusing to you
That you can look at it as an outsider
And sigh over your mother worrying about her children
You understand
But you don’t think a life like that can be yours
To be spent worrying over children
Or husband
Or maybe the result of too much economics
Seeing children as commodities
As being stockpiled and herded
The profanity of it made you even learn up the formula
To scandalise your parents
Sometimes you think ideas are all very well
But the very fact that we are skin and flesh and bones
Make the expression of ideas so very violent, so cathartic.
You are tired, you can hardly bear to move.
The world spins in and out of your sight.
You are young still, though not as young as you used to be.
There are books to be written,
And there are dreams to be plucked out of thin air.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

All the men I have loved

All the men I have loved 
have always told me not to be so angry
That I should laugh more often
And because I loved them and wanted to please them
I pretended to, but the rage never went away
Today I tell them I don’t want to calm down,
I don’t want to smile
This is a legitimate rage
And I rage for all the years we had to hide
We still do
All the years we had no claim over our own bodies
We still don’t
All the years we remained someone’s mother, 
or sister or wife or daughter
Never our own person
And all the history you took away from us
Confining our names to sidenotes, afterthoughts,
Villianising us, romanticizing us
But robbing us of our agency,
Our right to be angry
Our right to rage against everything that we have suffered
And still suffer
Today I don't want to be your darling daughter
I have no use for your love
If it doesn't let me decide
 The terms of my life
Today I don't want to be the love of your life
If you only loved me for my smile.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

If this would ever end, then when

You are beginning to come to terms
With your tight fist of a heart
And that you will always be a little angry
at your own helplessness, at all the sand that
slips through your hands
At your ancestors for having been so foolish
To have got you into this mess,
There is no walking away without
blood in your hands
Something wasn't right from the start,
and you knew it
But when you screamed nobody listened
Because who listens to a woman
in this land unless you are old with a husband in tow
Nobody remembers the past,
except for distortions,
It is now Us and Them
Sometimes hate finds your way into your heart
And then the self-loathing afterwards
Sometimes you watch from your window
for the familiar sight of burning tyres
Boys in their teens running in glee
And the chemically induced tears afterwards
Last night in your dream
you were wandering in a mist
Wondering if this would ever end, then when?