Ipshita Nath
M.A. English (Semester III) Centre for English Studies
School of Language, Literature and Cultural Studies
Jawaharlal Nehru University, India.
Mud and sewage and the stink of Everyday excrement
Rotting minds
Wilting in the odour of
A putrid world, with no breath Or fresh air to save a
Dying soul of
The one with that thing between her legs.
Blood and dirt, and food staining The front and back of the
Worn cloth hanging on a bony frame With curling toes that are
Stumbling on the uneven ground Beneath cracking feet, Scratched and bruised heavily – Like that thing between her legs.
Walking and looking Towards nowhere particular, Aimless, in search for that Which she does not know,
With that unclean and diseased, Purpled, often bleeding Stinging, and painful
Thing between her legs.
Dancing and flying, Redeemed and cured at last – Or perhaps never rising
From the depths of the darkness Of a decaying body with
A decayed mind, festering silently The rest that would have been healthy But for that thing between her legs.