Note: For all of womanhood and our blood that brings forth generations. A chain of poems that started in The Significant League, an online literary group in Facebook.
For years, I have breathed in the
dingy hollow of my own blood,
Trembling, gasping, clutching at the skinny edges of myself.
For years, we have cracked open
Praying the whirlpool gets a nobler name, praying it does not strain us,
lapping at the shores of our thighs
we have so much strived to hide.
Today I listen to the deep-throated music of my own blood,
Naked, primal, alive.
I listen to it, watching it return in cycles.
I am sucked into the dense clouds
And wet earth of my being,
I am free, I sing, swirling in
spirals of a woman, menstruating, unabashed.
All Rights Reserved. Lopa Banerjee. August 16, 2016.
Sufia Khatoon’s poem in response to the previous poem on womanhood:
A thousand galaxies away
In the city of soul’s, a pair of eyes blink and stare, unaware of existence
On a fateful night I came into being, oblivious to the bloody core,
I evolved like millions of stars,
Building consciousness and subconscious state of things.
Secretly in my core too, a stream gathered drop by drop.
Dormant, quite and waiting to fulfill another cycle.
It waited, calmly soaking within a storm,
I hear soft whispers of pain in it’s weakest state.
Nothing is in control of the mind,
Nothing is in control of the body,
Blood flower blooms in the core of thorns and I bleed again,
Bearing the restless pain,
Feeling the wet river that flows freely,
Clogging every pore of my footprints and I understand the universe.