Social Commentary Poetry

The fabric falls down and the twitching pain spreads

The wanderlust world of my weakening flesh

He came, he was in the room, and there was a palpable silence.

I can feel the restless winds of change, for today, if not tomorrow,

is a day with new hope beaming the mindless clutter of an antithesis.

The fabrics spin under, and the blouse can’t hold my breasts underneath

the pall of protective pretentious armour, galore the gore fumes, my head

bends and my hands form a constellation of its own. Can I be the cosmic

gaze covered in the shiny stardust of a meteorite? The darkening night will

soon shadow my summer smiles, for the world is cruel, but I live

living cruelty. Atop my saree, lays my frugal fabric, a lopsided torn

petticoat to cover my porous blooming insides fertile loathing the love

that was never predestined to me. In haphazard raging men’s hold, the

nights suffer the strangest silence. What is love when you are pinned to the

ground, penetrated like a lusty animal? Devouring you in a single session of

pain and domineering masculinity, as if the flower I hold is rotten from

the inside. The thrust and the grasp pains, the air around my neck traps

itself in between my blood vessels. In traumatic and ghastly journeys, we

may forget the world in mysteries but do remember not everyone fights the

winds of change. In shadows the souls cry, in nature the hands dry, and the

mouths swell sinking inside the being dying in the hope of love, for its

none to attain, rather we die in disdain. But now there is porgeny to see

the violence in stranger forms, in norms the cruel world structures

a primordial intent, mothers are never crooked, for we fight for our

own hence you lay in this grave so hefty and big. For what I feel and do,

was my son who translated the woes with a shovel and a knife to avenge

the dignity of his mother, even if fathers pretend they come first,

they are sure the first to go…

Cosmic Context: In many conservative societies sex or the act of intercourse is often seen as a duty to continue the bloodline. Nowhere in these rigorous societies do we see advocating sex as an act of pleasure. The act of coercing and the issue of marital rape in societies such as these is very common. Imagine you are sheltered till your late 20s, not allowing yourself to have any male interaction and on the night of your marriage, you are expected to have intimate relations with someone. Though this phenomenon is reducing in cities, in rural hinterlands, especially in very conservative areas it's still prevalent. It also legitimizes all forms of sexual violence, and the repression males face sexually in their teens is often endured by their wives in later stages of life. In this piece, we see a mother trying to express her woes and how nights often make her spine shiver knowing what will happen like a routine. But now with time as her son grew in age, she feels more protected and sheltered. As she sees her husband's grave she smiles with angst and tells how her son protected his mother killing his father for her own safety.

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