Rebirth – Megha Sood

“A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.”
― Chris Cleave, Little Bee

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You plucked my wings

feather by feather

pulled it out in pieces

from the blades of my shoulder

You can bloody me all you want

shred me into pieces

and rip them into halves

for everyone to see it.

Your hands sanguine with my

seraphic blood

your soul

deeply encumbered.

But you can’t douse the

eternal flame in me

the one which is burning

and giving me the intensity

the light of my being

my aura,

my personality

these wounds will heal

and scars will be formed

that is how the life sustains

that is how life is born.

Photo by Gaston Roulstone on Unsplash

Elements-Megha Sood

First Published in the Writer’s cafe Magazine Issue 13 -“Elements”

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My soul without the love

an empty poem

Stripped of its beauty

with metaphors

but nothing to compare with.

 

My mind

with it’s tangled thoughts

ricochet between the doubts and the certainty

almost sure of the day

when nothing will begin and everything will end

a journey towards Oblivion.

 

My skin

devoid of the healing touch and showered with the wet empty kisses

you plant every day on my cheeks

it bears marks of time

sensitive to even the pain

when the time shrugs its shoulder

and the moment end

and my skin still waiting

for that healing touch

fervently to suppress that pain.

 

My love

a dream too real

conjured out of thin air

like the magic potion

will heal everything

and that magic elixir

will resurrect me from my darkness

of bone and Ash

my love enough to be real

to be felt with my fingertips

and too surreal

so I can feel the pain

when it leaves my body

gently as it glides

to live in the dimension

separate than mine.

 

My truth

a reality too hard to gulp down

your empty throat

when the reality cuts the dreams

with its serrated ends

and stripped off all its frivolity

it stands here naked

stripped

staring and gazing at you

with its bloodshot eyes

when you feel shameful

to hold it’s gaze.

 

So when the pain sits deep inside my

barren womb

like the dead lilies

knotted and tangled together

like the pain of the stillborn

where time eats time

you try to define

my mind,

my soul,

my skin,

my love,

my truth,

/my elements/

pulling and molding it together

to give it a shape and a form

and you realize

how wrong you were all along.

–Megha

Photo by Shifaaz shamoon on Unsplash

Foreign-Megha Sood

“I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

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The elongated nights and their shapeless arrival

tiptoeing of these broken dreams

along the shattered corners of my heart

my goblin shaped nightmares

hiding around the corners

and monsters in the corridors wailing and calling my name

the nights stretch itself and cover every iota of my existence

the thin membrane of it

covering my soul

reminds me of the darkness in the womb

/but that felt safe wasn’t it/

sometimes the solitude

brings its own tranquility

and you get duped by the darkness

those broken dreams picks

at the black of my obsidian eye

where the dreams are falling down in the abyss

sitting at the edge of the darkness

where my own hands feel foreign to me.

–Megha

Photo by Dmytro Tolokonov on Unsplash

 

How to be a woman? — Megha Sood

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There are rules to be followed

guidelines to be remembered

to be followed to the tee

before I can call my self a woman

a lady like appearance

and that ever-present grin on my face

smiling from ear to ear

just to please you and ease you into the life

as you please

I should bow down in obedience

should never raise my voice

walk with the stoop of  discipline

and  eat with your hand

with the freedom

you have handed me on the plate

Like I was the chosen one, you see

Oh! that skirt is a little shorter than we expected

see it clearly fails to keep those lurking demon inside their skin

Now, you have shown them

too much flesh

now they will come out

and rip you into shreds

will devour your soul from within

“I told you” they will say

keep your voice down

the patriarchy can’t handle you pitch

they are tone-deaf to your songs of freedom

every war cry of yours

is not too more than a screech

Give in to the fear

of those jackals

those protectors lurking in the dark

they are the guardians

of this society

and your voice is ripping them apart

So, the next time the world try to

teach me how to be a women

/an epitome of grace and elegance/

they should come and witness the scars

I bore on my body

and the glow I carry

which can put their

thousand suns to shame

a sight their shameful eyes

can’t bear to see.

I blog at Megha’s World

Photo by Eloise Ambursley on Unsplash

 

 

 

Final Goodbye-Megha Sood

This poem is part of the series on the Global Exploitation of Women.

This poem is based on the social evil of Child marriage where a young child (usually a girl below the age of fifteen) is married to an adult man. This poem encompasses the feeling of that child bride being devoured by this evil.

Gender inequality, social norms, perceived low status of girls, poverty, lack of education, safety concerns about girl children and control over sexuality are considered to be reasons for the prevalence of child marriages. Girl children in rural areas are more affected than their urban counterparts.

Child marriage is prohibited in India as per the Prohibition of Child Marriage Act, 2006 but as other social evil, it still continues to exist in the rural areas due to poverty and lack of awareness.

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That streak of vermilion
donning her forehead
and parting her hair
has forever
created a big chasm
an unending abyss between
her marigold colored dreams
and her
pain stricken future;

A joyous day,
a celebration for everyone
is met with the
dichotomous truth
her mourning heart
is hiding
behind her;

Incessant sobbing
the giving away
and atoning of his sons
by his father
seems to her like
getting rid of her,
a sin to be burdened with
a love so meager;

Her mother fails the
a feeble attempt
to stifle her emotions
and
wears an empty smile
dispensing all the lessons
of life to her
in last few moments of her freedom
an effort, too futile;

She feels no joy
in being stripped
from boxes of dollies
and few broken toys
fear and agony have
rolled into a
single emotions
when they waved
that “little bride”
a goodbye.

Picture credit: Google.com

A cry for life-Megha Sood

This poem is part of the series on the Global Exploitation of Women.

The deliberate killing of a newborn female child is called female infanticide.

  • Asian Centre for Human Rights (ACHR) stated that female infanticide for son preference due to a variety of reasons is a worldwide phenomenon with 1.5 million female fetuses being aborted every year.
  • These measures of the governments have not been fully successful because of the easy access to ultrasonography and weak law enforcement
  • The patriarchal nature of our society has caused this evil to continue for centuries.According to a report published in India Today, nearly 2500 cases of female foeticide or female infanticide take place in the state of Rajasthan every day.

 


I was conceived as a hope
tethered to the
strings of life
gave my mother,
two heartbeats
a moment so precious
so divine.

An unbridled joy
roaming around as a stardust
handpicked you from million
was excited to the core
about the new home
I was getting in.

A mixture of anxiety and happiness
crept in
the moment you
saw me
a speck of life
You fed me and took care of me
while my body
took form and felt alive

I waited those nine months
to be in the arms of
my creator, my father
carried in the womb
and floating in the love
of my mother

As the days grew near
the time flew by
the day finally came
the moment
so serene
so sublime

My arms stretched and ached
to be held by you
in your deep embrace
your face turned yellow
and full of disgust
when you saw my face

You were ashamed
of my existence
my few minutes of feeble breath
brought you disgrace

The softness on
your soul
felt bereft
of peace and warmth
Clouded by the patriarchy
rules of the society
you just wanted me gone

I was snatched from the womb
the cord of life snipped
born as a gender
not chosen as a boon
My cries and screams
were stifled
I was numbed to the core
too early, too soon

Those fingers I longed to clutch
by my little bony self
those fleshy fingers
were busy scraping
the earth in the backyard
getting ready
for my burial.

Photo by Omar Lopez on Unsplash