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| Saheli Mitra |
Your power in those genitals,
Did then the vice hide behind muddy fields?
Where the golden harvest
Swayed in the morning breeze
Ready to feed hungry mouths?
Serene flocks of fragile cranes
Hovering around pieces of her pink frock.
Tattered and torn,
Smeared with the crimson rays of the morning sun, prisms of stains
Patched designs, blots of blood
A lifeless arm peeping past
That harvest divine.
Virtue lost? Hid behind swaying crops
Where cranes yearned for a meal
Yet found none! They left hungry.
Dancing on the ripped vagina.
Claws soaked, virtue carried on their wings
To a distant land that heard her cries that night, when your power
When your brains
When your virtue
Made way through those genitals
Robbing me, of mine?
In search of my modesty, I lay dead.
Amidst muddy fields, where
I played as a child.
They still spell of my virtue
Snatched, crushed, but never lost!!
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