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,
Hung
Like a terrorist.

The rashes demand
the orange robe,
My panacea.
REMOVE THE NAIL POLISH,
THE NOSE PIN—
and you rape me again,
In the way you raped me,
In my childhood.

Decorum, you say;
Rabindrik–
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,
Sycophants;
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

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