Posted on March 9, 2009 by Sharanya Manivannan
Sleep wherever is most convenient for you.
Whoever and whatever is left in the morning,
take home. Be kind. All the world is yours for
the taking, long as you know that your little heart is
theirs for the breaking. Leave lipstick on their
china and on your letters. Make sure they know
that you’re a mariposa, blue as copper sulphate,
or blue as the sea, blue as a baby stilled too soon,
darling wench, and you never really intend to leave.
Set love free like a boat with neither oars nor anchors.
Trust it. Don’t trust yourself. Accept every familiar
that comes, even if one happens to be a goat. Forgive
less of people. Remember that things come in triptychs.
Be magnificent, like Coatlicue. You only owe it to me,
but break a mirror now and then, if you can afford it.
Kiss as much as you want to, and as few. Be difficult.
It will make you more desirable. If it will help you to
let him go, cut off your hands. They will grow back.
You don’t need them. You don’t need him. The older
you grow, the more you will amputate. Dance on stumps
if you have to, but don’t stop. Wear one item of red
every Wednesday and when death comes for you,
you will go as his bride. Burn every bridge you ever
built, and build as many as you possibly can. The one
that takes you home will be the last one standing.
Sing over the bones. Go slow.
Don’t forget me.
— Continue reading
Filed under: Art, Books, Poetry, Women's Lives | Tagged: frida kahlo, inspiration, poems, Poetry, role models, sharanya manivannan, witchcraft | 4 Comments »
Posted on January 2, 2009 by Guest Contributor
By Anasuya Sengupta
Too many women in too many countries
speak the same language of silence.
My grandmother was always silent –
always aggrieved —
only her husband had the cosmic right
(or so it was said) to speak and be heard.
Filed under: Desipundit, Poetry, Society, Women's Lives | 13 Comments »
Posted on January 29, 2008 by Meena Kandasamy
She wanders like a flimsy ghost
in the two-hundred-year-old
university where love thrives
in large abandoned third-floor
classrooms, monkeys shag on
corridors, restless gossip piles up
like dirty dishes in the canteen,
and young women learn some
Filed under: Exploitation, Gender, Institutions, Morality, Poetry, Sexual Harassment at the Workplace, Work Life | Tagged: academics, Poetry | 8 Comments »
Posted on November 20, 2007 by Sharanya Manivannan
Does all lust start and
end like this? Don’t get me
wrong. I loved my wolf.
I held him tethered like
a pussycat. I nursed
the rumble in his belly
with hands gentle as a burglar’s.
He lived on milk
and blood and ocean. He
had violets for his furs.
Filed under: Love, Poetry, Relationships, Sex and Sexuality | Tagged: Love, lust, poem, Poetry, sharanya manivannan, woman | 11 Comments »