The Perishable Woman

 

 

 

                     The man                                                                                          on their weak, firm

             was sitting in                                                                                                   back. But

      a farm green, plucking red                                                                      he came again when

  carrots, the purple brinjal, the                                                         they were returning. The old

       peas. His arms muddy, his                                                          man turned to look away far. It

              head had beads of                                                                      was not what they thought for

                     sweat like                                                                                            the girl. He was

              dew drops on the                                                                                           weak as

  grass & the weeds, bright green.                                                                   he coughed again.

Back on the door stood the old, frail                                                  Her eyes twitched and the

         Woman, without a smile.                                                       train came to a halt. The young man

            Her hairs stood out                                                                       was under the train, strewn

                          on her                                                                                               in pieces. Men

              head; black, partly                                                                        stood like stead in the dark

       white. A train they were to                                                   evening which hid her smile. She was

take, selling vegetables in a crowd                                                              mute as she looked at

       of kites & soaring eagles.                                                                            her own arms, she

             The old man, weak,                                                                                         knew not

                     tied up                                                                                                they were so strong,

                his sarong, up                                                                          but warm. Her hairs still stood

      to his knees. The girl hid                                                           on her head. She went home quietly

             behind her father. Her                                                                   with them. The next day a

breasts hung down without a brassiere.                                                      man rose again to

         Her nipples rebelled when                                                                                 ask for

                    hidden under                                                                                          a hundred and a

                           a shawl.                                                                                 squeeze. The woman ignored,

         The young man brought                                                                          moved on to make a life

    his auto, a hundred and                                                                              She didn’t want to kill, so

a hard squeeze like every other day.                                                                       she moved to

       The daughter was his choice                                                                                     a new

                    today but the                                                                                            shop in the mall,

                        Mother                                                                                           under the shade. She tied

              won’t let the man                                                                           a bun now. She smiled & the man

       touch her. It could never                                                                         coughed less. The girl wore

   be her daughter, never will be,                                                                            a dress and went

         she barked. The man went                                                                                       to school.

                and they carried                                                                                             Finally she was

                        the load.                                                                                             happily new in the core

                                            

 

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About Snehashree Mandal

Snehashree Mandal is from India. She describes her as a woman of colour in this bold colourful world with the passion to write. Snehashree has a Masters in Human Physiology and she has worked in the healthcare sector for a decade. She decided to change her stream and finally gave wings to her thoughts, imaginations and experiences in the form of writing instead, of devoting herself completely into healthcare.

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