A poem dedicated to women everywhere but specifically to the women who suffer terrible consequences in India (and elsewhere) just because of their gender or caste.

A single yellow rose lies on a wooden plank next to a red (blood-like) smear.

When fleeting moments of felicity
appear in times of despair
and the evanescence of euphoria;
even when anguish is beyond repair,
makes its presence felt,
Is it enough to go on or
is it finally enough?

When the air gets thin,
do I breathe harder or
savor every breath within?
When my sisters burn
and I feel their wounds
printing on my skin,
do I set the world on fire
or pray quietly by their pyre?

When my life is owned
and possessed and burned
and buried by those without
an inkling, do I rise in
a momentary bravado
or kneel for a lifetime's ignominy?

When at the time of their requiem,
my fallen sisters lay peaceful
in their coffers, and
accept still the apology
our maker offers,
Till such a dawn breaks,
I shall live with their aches,
for somewhere in the beyond,
they look at me and us,
I shall go on for their sakes...

I'm a teacher and a writer. My life runs on my love for literature and poetry and music and cinema.