Whisper, Whisper, Whisper,
stay free but don’t make a sound,
you now have wings,
grown and mature,
but don’t fly too high,
your parampara is your bound,
wear all the colors,
a woman adorns,
but be weary of what you place,
especially at in-borns,
you can go to school,
and even graduate at your please,
but just those five days?
put your horses to cease,
If a man walks by,
dare not talk loud and carefree,
as it’s shameful and shy,
to confide if not a stree,
Oh! dinner tables and kitchens,
are forbidden for hygiene,
as you become messy and pungent,
impure at the in – between,
no don’t you worry,
it’s just a monthly routine,
a few days of mercy,
and you are out of quarantine,
walk slow, cautious and pay heed,
not for yourself but for them eyes,
if they see you stain-y and bleed,
stares will scream embarrassment for misdeed,
temples are holy,
all year round,
so maintain far vicinity,
when red drips from brown,
also if just bought a new dress?
wrap it in a bundle,
along with intentions to impress,
as your points are bleeding puddles,
making ponds of untouchable stress?
your tulsi in your balcony,
can bear the no irrigation fast,
but pouring her some water?
you can’t till it lasts,
nobody bothers about your tool of use,
whether it’s a cloth, pad, tampon or a cup,
but one spot in viscous due,
chats will begin of ‘ a disgraceful misuse’.
so read all instructions my girl,
don’t miss out a line on that paper,
unwrap it like a gift and swirl,
eat the pain like some fortunate torture,
as it marks you real, real as a pearl?
because if you don’t strike a period,
till an age they foresee,
then you are incomplete as a woman,
your biology isn’t trustworthy,
so if you bleed,
those five days a month or more,
keep it hidden,
like a secret discreet,
rules have been written,
by writers of no face,
follow it with no question,
or build your own race.
menstruation isn’t a condition,
or a sympathetic disease,
it’s a cycle at regular repetition,
demanding confidence with ease.
then why should
By Mallica Mishra.