CRY OF THE WOMB
Behind his earlobe was my tongue tip.
The tickling made him turn my side.
He embraced me and kissed on my lip.
Gleamed the golden ‘thaali’ around my neck.
Man and wife, we were then
Love flooded like Ganga in Shiva’s curls.
Then, I didn’t know why I used to see
A stranger in my bed, in nightmares.
Woke up at night and respired in consolation.
No, it’s him; I went back to bed caressing his temple.
There were five more days for Valentine’s.
I had the world’s best gift for him.
That night, he threw me into dark.
I craved to clasp him tight.
He was like ‘Kaali’ in Her ferocity.
I was like a lamp ready to be relinquished.
The woods around heard a cry…
The cry of a new born, it wasn’t me.
The cry of my womb barren.
The cry of his baby yearning to be born.
Kali, ( Sanskrit: “She Who Is Black” or “She Who is Death”) in Hinduism, goddess of time, doomsday, and death, or the black goddess (the feminine form of Sanskrit kala, “time-doomsday-death,” or “black”). Kali’s iconography, cult, and mythology commonly associate her with death, sexuality, violence.