Narration

I’ll weep to you about My landlord, and with My mature gestures— You will understand: The torn sari, disheveled hair Stifled cries and meek submission. I was not an untouchable then. I’ll curse the skies, And shout: scream to you Words that incite wrath and You will definitely know: The priest, his lecherous eyes, Glances that disrobed, defiled. I was not polluting at four feet. How can I say Anything, anything Against my own man? How? So I take shelter in silence Wear it like a mask. When alone, I stumble Into a flood of incoherencies. . . (First published in Kritya)