Farce

Are we even worthy?

You march down the path of the women before you

Imbibe their resilience

And the strength of character

The truth they fought for every single day

With the small battles and the large

With the marked bodies and the restrictive terrain

With the language that was fragmented

Language tailored for their needs

By the men they didn’t want

But those were their battles, the real one lies closer home

Not in the pages of the books I read

Or the discussions I have

When the silence strikes and makes you realize

That you have too vast a hole to fill

Where words and discourses will never be enough

The reality is what it is

The utopia will always be in your head

The same head that’s losing a bit everyday

Till a point when there’s nothing more

I don’t want an empty head

But a head full of only memories

Is a head that is useless

All these innumerable grand thoughts will fail

In the face of the reality that’s fixed

Love that was negotiated and bargained

For three meals and a hug

Bodies that were rubbed and used

For the comfort and the sex

Sex that was never yours because roles were played

And strict definitions imposed

On who will love and who will thank for that love

Families that fit the oedipal triangle neatly

But left scars that bulged out like open round cysts

Touches that made you recoil

From the strangers’ to your father’s.

Mothers that had no identities except through The one

An image that moved around like a puppet

The strings that controlled how much she could say

The fists that restricted how much she could dissent

The money that made her mute

The shame that she carried for not making at all

The labor that was ignored

Because raising a child amounts to nothing

And if it doesn’t, what am I repaying?

The house that has memories of abuse

The father who died with nothing to make him remember

A child that looks around for a different image of a father

In the same house the real one lived

In the same photographs on the walls that she cherished

How much can you move away from the past?

When all your present is haunted by it

The future getting lost in the grieving of the past.

I don’t want a father

But I want to buy into the myth of one.

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