The India Life

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
(it had the word abortion in it) the life of a poor woman in India told through the mouth of her, her husband, and a daughter

Submitted: February 12, 2013

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Submitted: February 12, 2013



My sari is covered in fine grains of dirt

My husband yells..

'Give me a son!  I need at least one!'

Daughter after daughter leading to my slaughter

the sonogram reads, it's another she.


I gaze at the woman I met the day I married her

With her dowry of a single lamb,

and enough coins to fill the palm of my hand

My anger took hold with what the doctor told

With useless daughters left and right,

She couldn't put up a fight

Forced abortion, then distortion.


I stare into the murky water,

My fingers grazing my gark bindi

Kerosen is still in the air

the horrid smell of burning hair

Pavada ripped I get a grip and rock with my sisters

the babies fall asleep

Soon I'll be wed to a man never met

With the dowry of one old sheep,

and coins only one palm deep.

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