As I Lay on the Turmac Black

I saw the clouds of dust before me.
Not large but scant and fine.
They rose above the turmac black,
A glimpse of the world above,
And settled quietly back.
It would again do the same,
With every breath, I struggled to let in and out.
The dance of the dust lingered before my eyes,
As I lay chained to the turmac black.
 
I heard muffled voices,
Shouts or cries, couldn’t say.
It seemed to emanate far way,
Sorry, strained and struggled.
Neither did it reach nor enlighten ,
But I did hear the voices!
As I lay imprisoned to the turmac black.
 
I tried to scream, shout and plead
But he never did heed.
The dust swept in as I cried,
Numbed the mouth,voice and speech.
I tasted dust and injustice,
As I lay traumatised on the turmac black.
My body hugged the ground,
To the earth,I was bound,
By the powerful yet insane.
 The hardness I felt,the heat and the pain.
 As I lay sprawled, alive but lifeless on the turmac black.
 
I smelled the heat, the air, earth and people.
The scents were afloat,
Tugging my sense to take note,
But with every breath a task,
It seemed not a pleasant ask.
As I lay overpowered on the turmac black.
 
I felt the fear, anger and distress,
 Strangling life bare.
I felt it, pregnant everywhere!
Although, unable to understand ,
Discern the origins or reasons.
It stroked my soul.
As I lay beneath the choke of a human limb on the turmac black.
 
I could see, hear, taste, smell and feel.
Yet I could not perceive!!
This helpless body, mind and soul.
As I lay under the weight of his body and anger.
My life, the highs and lows flickered before me.
I am not perfect, I confess, have good and vice,
I may be neat or messy.
But my brother,
Feel my plea!
When I ask for hope, a breath, a life and mercy.
For you and me are one from beginning to end.
 
I leave this world, my friends and foes.
After I do, not flowers do I need or endless songs,
But a promise of never again, a similar story of tragedy and grief.

Period,Pain and Pride!

 

The agony of it all,

You might say!

Every month ,less or more,

I give my blood,the precious drops.

I shed it from within

No questions asked.

For some it’s the beginning,

For some in between.

For the others, the end is near.

 

Reserve any thoughts if you never had a feel,

The days before it is real.

The bloating, aches and the cramping,

With moods to and fro on a swing.

The waves of nausea, steaming the taste buds

It’s not for the fainthearted, my dear,If  I may.

 

As these changes seems visible to world in view,

Internally,a battle of hormones is on!

The mind and the body soldiering to its tunes,

This age old scuffle continues.

Performed  perfectly ,

Orchestrated, in detailed harmony.

 

It’s normal, painful or less,

Troubling and or a mess.

It’s a part of me, like it or not

Yet, Keeping me in, closed behind a lair

Is it fair?

And taking a dig and jibe,at face and behind

Is it Kind?

Coaching me the impurity of the bleed,

Is it not a moronic plead?

Depraving me liberty to pray,

Is it not inequality or hypocrisy or both ,I must say?

Shackling me the with the cultural ethos of the menstrual blood.

Is it not but respectful to bleed with freedom?

 

My Life,My body,My Bleed!

Not a cultural heritage or matter of disgust!

It plain and simple.

My period,My pain and My pride!

Full stop.