twenty years to a lost childhood

I was twelve
And had not seen
My being, bloodied.
Yet.
I was but a child,
Who had learnt from five,
To thread garlands
Out of reeds, and squeeze
Nectar from the hives of honey bees

And you came, uniformed
A hat on your head and
Venom in your eyes,
And i became your sacrifice
Your sacrifice for the many days
And nights that you spent away
From your town girls and your wife

What did you see in me?
When you took me away,
Did i not remind you of a child
That you might have sired,
When you were far away?

Do you know that when you
Were done with me,
I saw blood for the very first time?
That it came gushing, as if to cleanse
The sullied pores of your crime?

Do you know that your monstrosity
Comes upon me, every night,
And that i have not slept since then
That i have woken wet with sweat
Watching my bloodied, tears with fright?

At the end of it all,
You moved on
To bigger catches and better fame
And i became a statistic,
Of a well rehabilitated
Tribal dame.

And i, spent every day,
Mourning the death of
My lost childhood.

Still mourning the death
For everything my life stood.

Twenty years later,
Justice they say, has come
But my blood is all dried,
My tears spent now.
Your justice cannot bring back
That twelve year old child,
Who had not seen first blood
Until you arrived.




this poem and 'Tribals and Bestials' are both written in the moment, 20 years after the mass rape at Vachati, TN