We, the women,
we have suffered so
Since centuries, since decades,
Since years, since days.
Since minutes, since seconds.
In villages, in farms, in cities, in dark alleys
In buses, in call centre cars, in discotheques, in rallies.
We have suffered long enough.
And now we demand our share of blood.
We are angry, we are so angry
All we see is red, splashes of it, blots of it
Running down like tears, from irises to cheeks
Yes, we want blood. We crave it, we deserve it.
We want castration. We want death.
We want beheaded, naked bodies and heads.
We want to slay, like we have been slain.
For that’s the only answer.
Not love, not motherhood,
Not forbearance or brotherhood
No more will we turn the other cheek.
We will burn as we have been burnt.
For isn’t that the only answer?
Blood for blood
An eye for an eye
An ear for a ear
A leg for a leg
A penis for a fondled breast.
A blood drop for a tear.
© Shweta Taneja, March 2013
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I started to write a blog about it, but since my opinion on this is raw and emotional, this poem is what emerged. I am feeling sad about the rightful anger in a lot of men and women in the country about the violent death of Ram Singh, one of the Delhi rapists today. I am feeling sad that we can rejoice in violent deaths as a country, a community, a gender, a world. Don’t get me wrong. I am against gender inequality and gender violence in all forms that are embedded in our society. But is celebrating violence the solution? I hope that in craving the blood of someone who’s the monster, we don’t become monsters ourselves.
Photo courtesy kafila.org
