By Syona Rajput
I wonder if my father raped my mother.
On their wedding day
When he was 30 and she 19,
When our sombre house was veiled by lights,
The way my mother’s ghunghat veiled
the tears, resigning out of her eyes.
He pushed the unwanted cum into her.
9 months later she pushed out, me.
Smirked through tears of labour
as she handed me to him.
“This will make your soul bleed,
just how you made my vagina bleed”
Not a rape, but a revenge product.
Tit for tat.
Karma finally paid back.
16 years later they do not speak anymore.
Separate rooms, half a daughter each.
I prefer their silence to their screams.
He’s having an affair and thinks I do not know.
My mother is clueless, or pretends to be.
I wonder when he thrusts into his mistress
does he dread the possibility,
not of getting another woman pregnant,
but of being born another me.
I wonder if my father raped my mother.
Still angered by a 16 year old defeat,
He looks at me and sighs deep.
So very clearly a revolting sight for him
The answer is not a yes or no
It is the regret in his eyes that grew up with me.