Poisoned Root

The pleated saree scorns,
A nod, a violence;
Red bordering the white;
How I love the colour,
A sensuous rendezvous;
Oh how I wish to drape it around my waist,
Like his arms locked
In my bosoms;
And a sprinkled ankle scintillates,
the fallen petals of my roses;
You tell me,
They want garlands,
Heavy, white garlands,
Snarling around my head,
Like a terrorist.

The rashes demand
the orange robe,
My panacea.
and you rape me again,
In the way you raped me,
In my childhood.

Decorum, you say;
As if I hear the word,
For the first time,
To challenge the scholars
Who brought me up.
Fascism you breed,
Isolating me;
I abhor your Rabindrik,
A fashion, an elitist theatre.
Raping young minds,
Creating servile robots,
But I shall violate you,
My unfortunate school;
For I am the daughter of
The insurgence;
My university taught me to be independent,
And I know how to cure poisoned roots.

#Day17 #Poem17


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s