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Migrating Lives

by Dharitri Ramanlal
(Bilimora, India)

Rivers of sweets ran down the streets,
Celebration to welcome one of their breeds,
All was fine until nine,
As the report came for the sign,

No moisture for the feet,
Parched lands made them bleed,
These holy showers of thy creed,
Gifted by the men’s greed,

Shivering under the blanket of cold night,
No more had the guts to deny this fight,
Life mirrored the might,
For doing something right,

When there are no ears for your cries,
Then the suppressed mind rise,
That’s the yearned prize,
That seems to be wise,

Heard thousands of stories in cocoon,
Thought of life as a boon,
All my perception faded soon,
As the one who mothered me had to run under the moon,

I have a question for the sperm donor,
Does he think of him as an owner?
Neither he is audacious of being a loaner,
My view only seizes on him being a loner.

Still cruel are the stories on gender,
The marks of disgrace it renders,
Life ethics are now to be purchased from a vendor,
It has long lost the taste of splendor.