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Vaishnavi Nandakumar Poem
I held a wilting flower in my hand
as it told me how I inspired it to die;
how my words resonated with its symphony of pain
and echoed out a toxic lullaby
I held the wilting flower in my hand
with a lost voice and helpless eyes
The roots were dry and I pleaded for life
But the petals withered,
Inspired to die.
I held a dead flower in my hand
as its thorns dug deep and scars ran wide
My hands, stained with red
Still reeked of shame,
but the blood that trickled, wasn’t mine.
Copyright © Vaishnavi Nandakumar | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Vaishnavi Nandakumar Poem
When I turned ten,
I was taught to stay deaf
even when strangers dedicated a verbal erotica
as a lullaby to my prepubescent self.
When I turned twelve,
I was taught to stay mute
even when an acquaintance always lost his pen,
which magically reappeared every time,
right between my thighs.
When I turned sixteen,
I was taught to stay blind
even when the man, with his hand between his pants
undressed me with his eyes.
When I turned eighteen,
I was taught to stay numb
even when a crowded bus turned into
a pervert’s paradise.
Today,
My ears have shut down, my eyes are closed;
My tongue is sliced and my heart is broke
I’ve become so numb; every touch feels cold
I don’t belong in my skin anymore.
So if my body is your pleasure for a price;
Tell me,
What more should I pay,
to claim back what’s rightfully mine?
Copyright © Vaishnavi Nandakumar | Year Posted 2020
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