There’s been too much in the news recently for me not to write this piece. Pawns is not a poem (I can’t write poetry). It’s just something that flowed out of the anguish I feel. Pawns Pawns Is that what we’ve been reduced to? Not fit to be born – we’re slaughtered in the womb. If allowed to be born Then we’re a curse. Best kept at home – Another pair of hands to work To serve father, brother, uncle Sometimes serving their baser needs. If allowed to be educated Then we must be eternally grateful. To school and back…
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Dear Lord, I beg you, I fall at your feet and implore you, “In my next life, don’t give me a daughter….give me hell instead” …. So go the words (translation) of a folk song from Uttar Pradesh, India. And in case you’re shocked by this here are some facts: India witnesses more than 27,00,000 child deaths a year, with the figures for female children being much higher than male children 53% of girls in the age group 5 to 9 years are illiterate 75% of married Indian women were underage when they got married One in every two girls…
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The wedding tent was up. The makings for the wedding feast were procured. The guests had begun to arrive. Hamid and friends gathered together to plan. It was decided that when Gulnisa went to fill water at the community tap, they would drive by and kidnap her. They acted on their plan. With her back turned, Gulnisa was an easy target. Gulnisa was brought kicking and screaming to Hamid’s home. His mother and aunts surrounded her. “I have a boyfriend,” she screamed. “But Hamid loves you truly, madly, deeply,” they said as they forced her to wear the wedding veil.…
