(For my mother)
Daisy Katta
In your womb I shook,
I felt a thunder,
Like this abode of your body,
Was not safe anymore,
For me and you.
I must have heard a piercing scream,
And maybe you cried that night,
I do not recall,
But you stood calm,
Just to preserve me
But I know,
Someone kicked your belly,
Because you were not wanted,
And nor was I.
They wanted us dead,
Our sheer existence,
Your womb and your very being
Was shaken again and again,
How many times was your body bruised?
How many times was your soul erased?
Did you tell your mother then?
Of your agony and pain?
Perhaps not.
The shackles of four walls,
Must have maimed you then.
But I know what you did,
You treaded with your little feet,
Carrying pots of water,
On your aching body,
You washed the bucket of clothes,
And burned that little stove,
Which splintered sparks on your wounds,
Just to nourish me.
When I was born you said,
You said,
There was no pain,
You forehead was drenched with sweat but no agony,
You smiled at me with sheer pleasure,
Because it was your victory,
As well as mine.
Daisy Katta is a mass media graduate from Mumbai and currently works at Tata Institute of Social Sciences as Research Investigator.
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