The cruel winter beautifully hauling
snowballs, big and small—is not so
Determined than the glistening
hope in a pale pair of eyes
Brimming in tiny droplets filled with
faith and fear.
The roaring wind attacking her voice with
hues and cries has overcome the
Tormenting alarms of an army truck
but not her unshakable words amidst the
Shivering chills harrowing around
She is calling for her sons to be retrieved
down from the graveyards,
down from the frozen soil drenched in snow.
Give her sons back
let her see how they hitched him
And then rejoice at the equal blessings he will receive
Let her move on and make the speech in a
dreary desert of social conventions–
Meaningless & Judgemental
A word after a word after a word—
searching for few drops of water, then
Failing in power, but sustaining—
slow and steady
She is calling for her daughters to be retrieved
down from living grave pits of abuses
down from frozen dreams full of helplessness
Give her daughters back, let them see how they
assigned her prosthetic purposes- to live with or die
Then, let her speak of the wounds unseen and untold
Her speech is not for her alone
but for a stranger blaming her
Inability to survive
for her son, killed for choosing a beard, a name, a faith
for her daughters, taught to be voiceless
for a girl unable to identify her soul
for a boy never taught to be
Proud for his women in life
Let her make the speech
Amidst the harshness and strange hotness
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