By Alakananda Sur
She's only at home,
On the phone all day long—
What more does she do?
She earns nothing for anyone….
In the dark, none to see her scars,
For all she had to do was comply—
Oh! How will she know how to cook?
She is outside all day:
And I am here to look after the house,
For no nanny have I;
So easy it is for her to work—
While her tears are held on tight,
The blood between is yet to stop—
With pleated hair, she goes to school,
Each day taking the same road,
Little aware of the eyes that stare
Her every walking move.
One day, she walks no more,
For she lies in the canal—
Little did she know that her crime was
That she was a girl to begin:
Hey, look at her
Dancing and swaying,
Inviting us with her sexy back,
Drinking and staying out so late at night—
Come on, she is asking for it,
Isn’t she…?
Hey, she was asking for it,
If only she was a decent girl….
She toils in the hardened sand,
Carries jars above,
Crossing muddy roads
Through sun, rain, and cold,
Keeping the fire on,
Feeding, mending, sowing the seeds,
Each mouth fed that has been bred.
Not a word, silent on the lips,
The mouth gagged tight:
You now find her in the rugged fields,
And all that is left… are her broken beads—
The glass buildings lit at night,
Only she is there:
An urgent call to attend,
A last-minute detail
For the presentation tomorrow.
Assured that the office car is there to take her back safely home,
Alas, did she know that she would never ever return?
It has been more than 48 hours since she last had a bath.
When will she crawl back into her bed?
She thought once again.
“Calling all hands, on deck—
Emergency, emergency!”
Is overheard again.
Duty calls,
Falling in line for the death that lies in wait…
But who knew it was for her?