A poetess in the country (My verse)

A poetess in the country (My verse)

Her poem stomps on

mud and splattered into pieces. it’s fluid wets the soil

Her poem raged when shadow is slapped over its face by slammed door. it knew everyone watched and no one care about what happened. it’s eyes bulged knuckles squeezed yet, grew silent.

Her poem lied to hide  its shame.


flaming pages fluttered to annihilate its heat.

words rose up powdered tower  of black smoke as if its  waste truck’s rear it’s hard-hitting truth  stinks pungently to ensure faces cringe

Her poem

witnessed its underaged daughters exploited by male chauvinistic men, greedy government, gutless on-lookers. it has many dust-covered pages  One from Austin, US that gasped for breath when a bent knee pressed on its neck and bellowed ‘i can’t breathe. Another from Khairlanji, India worse than an kinky pornography that kins are forced to indulge in incest

Her poem for centuries  always faced gallows offered to those who stand for right  Her poem managed to  weave its precious love for the people who read it tried finding what all are lost In the country erected above under gushing utters people pushed there to search their daily fistful of rice. Her poem dog awakes people at night barks at those who wag their tails, smiles to those who answer back the bark. Her poem  never end with or without herit wept for caged & whispered to them never give up their will to free.


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