Triveni

I was pregnant.

My mind was its womb.

This remembrance I now write,

On its tomb.

Born on a piece of paper,

My fingers were shaping it.

Day and night, hours and minutes,

With steps of mind and heart’s bit.

Suddenly the world saw it

Suddenly my child became outsider

Soon I was abandoned

Soon they casted the divider.

I heard my child’s cry

I heard my soul die

I folded my heart under  the pocket

I graved the verdict as in docket

The world is for survivors.

The world is for heads.

My child left for a school,

Where he was taught to be dead.