When she passes along the village path
With bowed head depressed
The women at the well
Whisper into each others’ ears
And speak in hushed voice
Secrets they think they know!
She was in her early twenties
when her good husband died
Of a mysterious fever
Her mother-in-law accused her
“You’ve eaten my son!”
The old superstitious crow!
Well, times have changed
A widow is not compelled
To go around with a shaved head
She needn’t be in a white dhoti
All her unfortunate life
Her widowhood to show!
She labors as dishwashing maid
In some well-to-do houses
She has to fend for herself
And her little son of two
She has to survive all odds
For him, until he can grow
But she is not invited to weddings
She is denied entry to birthdays
She shouldn’t be seen in mirthful
Parties and social gatherings
Her presence at such times is
Thought bad omen in
joyous glow
She has to fight other battles
As there are men of lust
Gazing her with hungry eyes
Salivating minds for adultery
On the unlucky soul unfenced
For protection to Kali she’d bow!
Xavier Bage
Fri, June 16, 2017
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