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The Lost Womb

August 20, 2015 | By

A seething projection of female infanticide, a rampant truth still prevalent in our country, as a mother mourns her lost womb.

snow laden branches

Snow-laden branches
Baring their white fangs

She sat there with a lost gaze,
Like the silence of the woods
Rustled by the rapture of leaves.
Whispering in the willows:
“She’s here.”

The cold hard concrete steps,
No warmth of the sunlit forest floor,
That murmured in the shining sun,
After the chill of the morning dew.
The cold steps.
Hurt, pain, death,
Oozing off the chill of a winter grave,
Broken by the howling of the North Wind.

Snow-laden branches
Baring their white fangs,
Grumbling through the elms and birches:
“She’s gone.”

Still, I could see her.
Little feet pattering on the white steps,
Rosy hands clasping the iron gates,
Twinkling eyes, yet lost.
Trying hard to open the gates,
Banging on them till the little hands bled.
Yearning to run through the garden,
Through the wooden door,
Plunging into my outstretched arms.

The chill was more than those cold steps,
Where she sat with a lost gaze.
As the hard scalpel ripped her out.
That tiny heart cut cold,
Those small feet pulled dead with a suction saw,
The eyes went shut.

With a smile of relief, they killed you.
Happy you were unborn,
Those white coats chuckling in the OT:
“She’s aborted.”

Yet, I could see you.
My man laughed too,
Took pride for the kill,
It was a five star super hospital,
He had paid for it.

His eyes gleamed of passion again,
We would again mate,
Till I wed another man.
Love, sweat, heat,
Tingling  teasing fun.
I would again try to mould in bed
In a deep embrace.

But still she sat there
With her lost gaze.
Mumbling, calling through those iron gates.
The stairs wobbling
Like the forest path.
Unknown, unheard, unstepped.

She ran down it,
Her little feet up in a storm,
Calling me.
As I ran fast,
My big feet outracing her,
The dancing gleam flickered around.
The towering oaks
Cried aloud:
“Go back.”
“Now, she’s dead.”

More to read

The Touch of a Mother
A Living Enigma…!!

Saheli Mitra is a journalist, author, blogger and poet. She is an amazon best selling author of romantic novel Lost Words that was launched by Penguin Partridge USA last year. Her poems regularly feature in US literary magazines like Yellow Chair Review and India’s literary poetry journal Taj Mahal Review. Saheli often uses poetry as a tool of protest in a patriarchal society known for its atrocities against women. She is also a mother to a naughty twelve year old son and an avid environment activist running her group To Trees With Love. She was Calcutta University Topper and did her MSc on Environmental Biology and Mphil on Egg Shell Thinning.
All Posts of Saheli Mitra

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Today’s Motivation

<div class=at-above-post addthis_tool data-url=></div>Time is not just the calculation of transitory phases in years, but also the assessment of ACTIONS-the effort we make in life's works; FEELINGS-our state of emotional being and ACHIEVEMENTS-our realisations in life, of life, about life. 

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Time is not just the calculation of transitory phases in years, but also the assessment of ACTIONS-the effort we make in life's works; FEELINGS-our state of emotional being and ACHIEVEMENTS-our realisations in life, of life, about life.