An Indian Woman

Goddess is she in her heaven;

Blooms she in the mortal garden,

Born she not here a boon

Seeded in her the curses.

Trapped she in a cocoon;

Cries she at her bruises.

Bleeds she when flourished;

God's left un-worshiped.

Excels she in the worldly growth,

Forced soon into a marriage oath;

Denied to marry if she has a love,

But allowed she to make a mere nupital vow.

Has she to bleed red

With a stranger in bed,

As a test of purity.

Deserves she the trust,

But suffers she from the lust.

Has she to be far from the idolatry,

For not to commit impurity.

Is she a machine maternally

And does chores mechanically;

Is she the guilty pleasure

For her man at leisure;

Is the flesh fed for hunger,

And the shell crushed in anger. 

Is she given freedom,

But consumed by seldom.

Is she angel in the god's kingdom,

But treated devilish in the man's whoredom.

Is hers forehead for the beloved kisses

Or zone of superstitions bespeaking of widows?

Cultivated by the sensations;

Contaminated by the traditions,

Finally buried she with damnation..