Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Slave:Hira Bansode

Hira Bansode


Slave

Where the doors are decorated with mango leaves
Where the houses are ornamented with little flaming oil lamps
In that country a woman is still a slave.
Where Sita entered the fire to prove her fidelity
Where Ahilya was turned to stone because of Indra’s lust
Where Draupadi was fractured to serve five husbands
In that country a woman is still a slave.

Where a woman’s identity fades like nature’s blossoms
Where delicate jewels of emotion are trampled under a heel
Where the free birds of dreams are scorned
In that country a woman is still a slave.

Where the sky-flowers of desire must be left to float down the river
Where the threatening force of women’s mind must be buried in the earth
Where the silvery moonlight of happiness must be poured into a jar of darkness
In that country a woman is still a slave.

Where a woman in her youth is dried up by tradition
is confined all her life like a stunted tree
She remains in the shadow of someone else’s light
In that country a woman is still a slave.
In that country where women are still slaves

The conflagration starts in the hours made of flowers
The festival of lordship is celebrated with joy
 but the stories of all that are recited with pain.

To be born a woman is unjust.

To be born a woman is unjust.

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