by Prem Prakash Limbu

She was ambitious and righteous
She sang the melody of love
With life unpredictable; unknown
Till she enjoyed her bridal matrimony
With harsh edge to be explored
Yet happy that she had found her man
Husband disguise in devil
Had she never mused
The family with the murderous hand.

When conceived with an innocent foetus
In her sacred womb
All so excited and blessed, they cheered
Chanted the holy incantation
To the well being of both
Till they found that it’s girl in the womb
Yet she was joyous and caring
Just to find others turning evil
They asked her to kill
But she pleaded bitterly
Tears never dried in her eyes then
Her groom, the protector, was the conspirator
And she couldn’t sought help from anyone
Exalted with glum
Only to find, tears never dried then.

That gloomy day marked her dead fate
When she entered the butcher’s dome
All clad in white, honoured attire
Ready with machines in their hands
Unfelt people ready to slaughter
A small innocent life in the womb
Then suddenly everything turned unconsciously dark.

And nothing she felt then
Till she woke up in pain
With a pain in her womb
And a pain in her soul
She cried, ‘They murdered! Murdered!’
But with no warm heart to hear
Only to find a cruel smile fall in her eyes
Only to find girls dying many times in a life
Just leaving us to muse
How many times?

Wounded Womb