Devi

Where Am I in India?

My brass statues, many-armed,

My curvaceous stone voluptuous,

crumbling in smog,

My paintings cracked with age,

My temples controlled by men

to control womben,

homes mirroring slavery...

I Am not there.

I Am lost with 10 million girls aborted.

I Am married as a child to an old man.

I Am bent down sweeping, sweeping,

sweeping like the wind,

down the despised generations

of unschooled dalit dust.

I Am in purdah, poor-rich, praying for sons.

I Am graying young,

widowed in an old torn sari,

starving for life.

I Am burnt to death in dowry greed.

I kill Myself not after being raped

but after visiting the police station.

Yet, I Am more than this, One and All,

My Presence strong and fierce.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018