NO_sign.svg

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He was like a weaver bird
Who built a large palace on the grounds of an arboretum,
And a fancier one inside her fallen heart
He courted her with riches
And embellished her with glitz. Countless facets
Would twinkle like a starry constellation
On her fingers, the pendant stone was
Amethyst, and the hotel rooms he took her to,
Were plush boutique, hidden beneath
Beautifully formed hillocks
And cascading waterfalls.

And she gifted her heart to him, wrapped in
Assamese silk and a hymen stitched
In pure satin. Her body was made of cellulose fibrils,
Cotton from head to toe, and fragile
In composition and thread. Still
She didn’t see him as a mongoose, a weasel,
Or a pole cat, just a man who would climb in
And out of her body while promising
Her all that a woman could ever want.
A cottage, a baby in a cot and a courtyard
And yet, she was only the courtesan,

-Till that day she was legally his,
To devour……. –

And he bamboozled her with words
Of carnal drapery and borrowed her lip-satin
For sorrowful fetishes,
And he would always get what he wanted.
He ravaged her with the fortitude
Of an alpha primate, who shadowed
Every one of her senses with fear.
He darted in and out of her body, like a piston
Through her vagina and made coercive love
With no sign of repentance or a feeling of compassion.

And she was torn every time
Like a cotton garment with threshed filaments
And there was nothing she could do.
You could say, she was kidnapped by a certified paper
Held hostage by a 24 carat ring
Raped by a vow of fidelity
And hushed by the lingering shame

And now she looks at a baby inside a cot
Knowing he will grow up
Never to learn the truth – that he is a child of rape,
Worse, his father was the rapist.
Protected by a vow, her husband will stand
With a puny little rodent between his legs,
Crushing a woman who loves him back.

And there are stories like this
Everywhere you look, when marriage
Is just a safe house for conjugal rape.
This land of ours has anecdotes worthy of voice,
Worthy of poetic justice, worthy of prison cells,
And unworthy of secretive masks,
Of a sometimes-forgotten and perhaps
Conveniently-omitted condition
For the oldest-known commodity traded
Between man and woman.

How endearing is it to find a Boolean choice
Facing every transaction of love.
And two simple but beautiful words standing in-between,
As legal gatekeepers,

And vigilant guardians of free-will,
In paramount consent.

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