Feminism Poems
Coquette
by Maya Zaveri
I learnt a new word today.
‘Coquette’
I didn’t know there was a word for
a flirtatious woman
in particular.
Sometimes I like how my curiosity makes me
want to learn things
that won’t matter in a few months,
or weeks
or days.
......
She grew up sweet and virtuous
by Martina Athokpam
She grew up sweet and virtuous,
Fancied and adored by everyone;
but she never knew what lies ahead.
Those fairy tales and fantasies
Vanished in front of her.
Reality opens its miserable door,
the road ends ,but the journey was yet to begin
Neither can she walk ahead nor walk behind
......
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Continue readingतू कब तक यूँ सहेगी
by Muskan Sharma
तू कब तक यूँ सहेगी
तू कब तक यूँ सहेगी
तू कब तक यूँ चुप रहेगी
तू कब तक अपने आपको रोकेगी
तू कब तक यूँ सहेगी।
किसी का तुझको यूँ नीचा दिखाना
किसी का तुझपर यूँ हाथ उठाना
किसी का तुझे यूँ चुप करवाना
तू कब तक यूँ सहेगी।
......
Woman/Girl/Yours
by Aspen McIlrath
You don’t want a woman but a lanky-limbed foal,
New, and still slick with her mother’s warmth,
A body trimmed with lace that smells of apple juice and spit,
Sensual, and fertile, and unmarked by blood.
You don’t want a woman but pigtails and ribbon,
Easy to pull, and to run through eager fingers,
Her hand grips your thigh while you croon some old hymn,
......
तू कब तक यूँ सहेगी
by Muskan Sharma
तू कब तक यूँ सहेगी
तू कब तक यूँ सहेगी
तू कब तक यूँ चुप रहेगी
तू कब तक अपने आपको रोकेगी
तू कब तक यूँ सहेगी।
किसी का तुझको यूँ नीचा दिखाना
किसी का तुझपर यूँ हाथ उठाना
किसी का तुझे यूँ चुप करवाना
तू कब तक यूँ सहेगी।
......
She grew up sweet and virtuous
by Martina Athokpam
She grew up sweet and virtuous,
Fancied and adored by everyone;
but she never knew what lies ahead.
Those fairy tales and fantasies
Vanished in front of her.
Reality opens its miserable door,
the road ends ,but the journey was yet to begin
Neither can she walk ahead nor walk behind
......
To the women from the graves
by Priyanka Roy
Women are rising from their graves, from their coffins in tattered clothes and battered bodies from the circle of death and are now marching down the streets, in flocks to let the world see them, borne in blood, tied to their mother's cord, they ascend with countless scars on their bodies, amassed over time, by centuries of oppression.
Thwarted and bodies fatigued of years of tales of protection and tenderness by agonised chaps.
They are marching downtown pouring stories like mud on their way for other women, mothers to collect and preserve.
Some crawl, some limp, some crouch -
Does Lord know what they have been through?
Some walk, steadily, clenching the burden of their breasts, oozing milk, neglected by their haughty inborn, defending them from strangers in congested buses, markets and clubs from uncles, cousins, paternal-maternal male relatives.
They are rising from their graves again
after a blistering deluge on Earth.
Dispersing and pinching out through the dark clouds - smiling, humming, lullabying
in languages local, rusty, thick.
......
Toxic Feminism
by Disha Shree
She wasn't the same anymore, she'd never be again,
Young fires blazing, lit with the exuberance of youth,
Making her own definition, shaping the word,
She lived her life, no struggling to fit inside,
No cookie cutter sizes, not feeling anxious whether she fit or not,
Beauty radiating in the uniqueness of her self,
Defining herself, her ways to be,
And words? They were her slaves, not masters.
Not taking what was given to her,
......
