He tells me how pretty I look tonight,
The short dress,
making my legs look longer.
He knows not of the pain of
Every hair pulled out,
the burn of the hot wax,
The anxiety as the strip is rubbed against my skin.
For him they’re just a pretty pair.
He told me how he wanted to kiss
my luscious lips.
Red lips which were nothing compared to
The redness caused above them,
When the hair was threaded out.
It buried into my skin,
As I press my tongue against it.
So as to retaliate?
The glint in my big black eyes,
would make him stare into them all day.
Well, not with my dense black brows,
the plucking of which,
made my eyes quiver in pain.
Shaving my hair,
Shaving it off my head.
The latter considered bizarre,
The former, well, surreptitious.
Handsome never does.
Child birth hurts,
Intercourse on him doesn’t.
Menstruation hurts, Boners don’t.
Then why should I choose pretty,
When I endure pain almost at every turn in life?
Be it a war between my legs or a new life inside me?
So the next time he tells me I’m pretty,
I’ll tell him to wait,
Till my dark black hair
There was abnegation for him
The moment his hand was on your delicate, slender neck
His clutch growing tighter
Till he realizes the sanity of it
And lets go
You laying breathless on the floor
He is the beast to your beauty
The prick that puts you to sleep
You don’t need him
But you need him there
For me, and that saddens me
But you’ve had enough
I am here now
To shield you when he takes a step forward
There to shut him out when he does loud
There to make him respect you
As there is no compassion in him no more
But I won’t let you go numb
Screening him away
Making you smile
Laugh. Love. Live.
As you rightfully deserve.
You are back home
When you’re stopped while keeping the keys under the mat
“We keep a pair of keys each with us now”
You can’t find the sugar container
It isn’t kept where it used to be
Your brother’s grown taller
Your mom older
They set up wi-fi at home
You feel alienated in your own bedroom
No warmth in your sheets
The scribbling on your wall is gone
You smell fresh paint
You don’t remember your favorite TV channel’s number
There are new plates on the dinner table
New books in your library
You are back home
But it was home back then.
Rain fascinates me. It brings to me thoughts that I don’t pay attention to usually. Just feels like yesterday when I was this stupid, immature little girl, a big mouth, sitting with legs wide open and a perpetual extrovert (sex no bar). And then a heavy shower washed her away and refined me. Now i take decisions wisely. There is introspection and retrospection, practicality. I don’t see a person and immediately feel affinity or affection. There’s judging and analyzing the scope of ‘us’. Placing the pros and cons on a weighing machine is the only spontaneous actions I apparently take.
Knowing that my dreams are just dreams and life is harsher. That before covering myself in clothes I need to discuss the dimensions with others. And serving to ‘others’ leads to eventual loss of self. And then I wonder if refinement means complexity and becoming older means coming closer to truth. That knowing nothing is dumb and knowing too much lethal.
The changes in me made me a pre-programmed calculator. And I miss the spontaneity. The life. There is nothing similar I share with that little girl but thank god, rain still fascinates me.
The chemical reaction on the board seemed to be worthless, the scribbling of pens over papers, the screeching of chalk over the board and the teacher’s voice, so monotonous ,so repelling I didn’t seem to pay heed. I was feeling imprisoned , being made to do something I did not want to.
With these thoughts I look out the window, a vulture, soaring high, so magnificent; dipping low, so graceful and finally sitting on a branch, what composure.
- Oh! What ecstasy the rustling of the leaves would seem, the gushing winds, the warm sun, all of it so stupendous, so free. This magnanimous bird ruling over the sky, an expanse of pure extravagance.And then the bird is shackled, the teacher calls upon me asking me to elaborate the reaction on the board, restraining me to magnify my own thoughts.I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t want to know the answer. I was sent to the field to run five rounds of it as my punishment. Ah! What elation! I reach the field, stunned, gaping at the creature, stupefied. Its freedom, its beauty, its perfunctory flight makes me jealous. As i look back at the ground set to begin my rounds I see a small child, a labourer’s, playing in the stones, bricks and sand brought in for construction..his mother sitting behind him, in dismal of a gloaming future for their child and themselves. And looking at me with eyes that made me realise what I’m losing at. What I have been considering as trammels are longed for, dreamt about by many whose dreams are asphyxiated in the murkiness of giant factories or throttled in the vicious circle where there is no education, no home and no life, only despondency.
I realised my life is mine to be titivated and I need to scrounge for my own definition of freedom. Returning to class I was full of gratitude towards Him, free enough, and privileged to be sitting in a classroom and receiving what will define me forever
That was my moment of “Epiphany”.