Sahana Artheya
When a baby begins to cry,
The flowers crawl back into the ground
The dogs believe Diwali’s come early
Birds flock to a new stretch of sky
Ambulance sirens are scared into silence
Whistling winds wave their white flags
Parents assemble like patriotic troops
With the mission of making her stop.
One parent rocks her back and forth
Another whispers lullabies
The walls grow thicker to trap the sound inside
The kettle whistles a soothing tune
The moon makes shapes like a shadow puppet
The furniture forms a safety blanket
To soothe her back to sleep
But no one ever asks the baby why she’s crying.
She could be hungry
Or she could be hungry for change in a world that doesn't value a woman’s voice
She could want milk
Or she could be crying for uninformed citizens
Whose money is being milked by greedy politicians
She could be tired
Or she could be tired of hearing the buzz in our pockets
That signals that another child is lost to genocide
But we would never know, would we?
We have all been that baby
With cries that competed with vacuum cleaners
Traffic through the window
And chutney whirling through the mixer
In homes that wish and pray for us to stop
Without asking us why we’re crying
And I wonder: when we get older and find the words
Do we ever begin to get asked?
Sometimes I still feel like that baby
Screaming within my crib of privilege
Wailing for war and women’s bodies
Howling for human rights and climate justice
Unable to articulate my sadness
Because I’ve been raised to suppress it
Like my parents and their parents before them
In this world where we cry without being asked why.