FRAYED

Blind and Deaf,
My hands are smeared in blood.
I light the shuddering lamp
invoking scriptures
for a mute God this morning.
Turning around silence
pleating my brazen lies,
I drape nine yards of cowardice
tucking in the first edge of fear
as my brethren are dragged from homes
stripped and walked,
herded as cattle along the weathered path
around my village. Ribs, thigh, haunches.
Their burning skin becomes mine
as the opaque sun flicker on the blades of grass.
I draw a fishtail
on the shadow of my coal-smeared honour
and nail the last cross on my tongue
when they are led into fields amidst
jeers and war cries.
Silence is a snake on the frayed edges
of shame when there is nothing more to be inked upon this battlefield of my bruised body.

Smitha Sehgal writes two poems in solidarity with the women of Manipur, who have been targeted in the months-long ethnic violence in the state. Courtesy: outlookindia