Poetess Kamala Das

People generally take up Kamala Das and her poetry Writing Ph.D. theses, Promoting it beyond And overpraise her slender works Heaping praises, Showering and showering upon, Adding adjectives and superlatives. Call her a feminist, a confessional, Autobiographical, Down to earth and realities, One of man-woman relationship, Full of the scent of blood. But none has come to understand her, She is physical, bodily and sexual, One who is hysteric, Mad and maniac after sex, A Rajnishite with a rudraksha rosary, A bhogavadi. The summer which she describes Is the summer of the body, The fire and heat of it, Full of sexual lust and dreams, Unfulfilled carnal desires And seeking satisfaction for it. To read her is to delve deep in Love, sex and dreams, Drawing and deriving from the unconscious, An abnormal babbling, Gone into hysterics, Applying the things of the dark reservoir. A poetess of Lawrentine give and take, love and hate theme, Attraction and repulsion story, Dissatisfaction in love seeking satisfaction, She draws from Sylvia Plath the confessional elements, Homosexuality and lesbianism And eunuch dancing. We often hear the things of Kamala And she keeps criticizing her husband, A feminist wife trying to be a politician And chiding her henpecked hubby without rhyme or reason, What does her husband say to, Have we ever tried to hear it? . A colourful lady is she, painted and dented And without moral and character And loose and flippant, A dream burner, putting on fire, Bbut spiritually sick.