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Utkarsh Kumar

Tragedy Drama

3.4  

Utkarsh Kumar

Tragedy Drama

Woman Was The First Language

Woman Was The First Language

3 mins
197


I don't remember Nani and Nana talking

Because the last time

Nana used his belt

Was to fasten her mouth

Not his trousers

And the last time Nani shed blood

Was not hers

But Nana's


Lying unconsciously

Over the bed, they slept

Together

For the five times, they made love

[babies] [boys]

Years have passed

[along with taunts of 'eating her husband']


Bruises are pale now

Her wrinkles assemble

And collect all the strength

When she smiles

Like Durga screaming

Courage in her bent spine

To clear her throat wet with

Nightmares still stuck inside


For when the sixth time

They went to bed

She knew the difference between

Sex and rape

She knew the language

She was born with.


Saraswati left her teachings

As a precautionary

Over my Didi's skin

So when her boyfriend

Started tracing

His lustful demands over her

She knew the difference between

Holding and grabbing

The former leaves a smile

The latter leaves the impression

Of fingers


And fear in the heart

That stole her sleep

And pushed her confidence

Deep down into the throat

To never let her speak

Again

The language

she was born with

Her steps chained

To the manuals of "good girls"

Her food chained with sleeping pills

Her body covered with

Neon warning tapes


But when the pills turned pale

And manuals turned to ashes

She befriended Kali

And since then

Burns down the

Hypocrite towers

Of silence and men.


Childhood memories of mummy

Talking about

An uncle moving behind

Every day with his failed attempts

To snatch away her dignity

And her voice ignored

Like a distant echo termed

To be useless


Her memory takes her back

Inside the kitchen

Where her focus was on a

Bidirectional arrow

Tilting between

Geometry and cutlery

Heavy towards the latter


But soon she learned

The language she was born with

And she made paper boats

Out of the patriarchy sheets

And bid goodbye to it

For the career, the future had to offer.


Every woman I meet

Tells me a story

About how

The woman was the first language

God invented

And this time

It ate a poisoned apple

Out of the blooded witch of patriarchy

Making it deaf to

Thunderstorms

Tearing her sky apart


And when somehow

It hears a feeble scream

It makes her know the language

She was born with

Maybe God is a human

Whose mouth has been stitched together

With society's norms

Often waiting for a fire alarm

To scream emergency into its ears


For women have been told

To scream fire during situations

Not under control

But they never tell

That the fire will burn her

And if she lives

To tell her tale

She will discover her own language

And maybe someday

God (and we) will hear her

At her birth

And teach her the

First language

God invented.


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