Deadline to submit your poems has been extended to February 28th.

Violent Womb

Smrithi Iyer

It feels like to be in a wobbly pool,
I hear noises,
Noises of words,
Is that what they call it?
sounds quite cool.

Every morning my mother kisses my brother before sending him off to school,
But with me she fears to even have a moment,
As there are other people who rule.

I hear two people walking,
They think I can’t hear,
Maybe some sound is blocking,
Because i never hear my father talking.

Mother sneaks in at night,
Touching her belly,
Crying her heart out,
There seems to be some fright.

Finally i hear my father,
The noise quite loud,
It was an ache to my tiny ears,
Like a burst of a storm cloud.

We had a last talk that morning,
Mother felt weak and drowsy,
But still picked herself up to tell me,
“Babygirl this world doesn’t deserve you”.

I thought there was a room set up,
But all i got was a tomb.
It was time,
For the lord to call me home,
Saving me from the violent womb.

Leave a comment