I knew of a woman,
she would stand in endless rain
relishing in a forgotten need for umbrellas
Nose turned to sea
smelling salt breeze
cutting right across city smog
The sunshine in her hello
streaked radiant in rooms and hearts
Whorls of paint on her ankle
She stepped colorfully
across grey asphalts
leaving streets Monnet brushed
Traced patterns with a silver nailed thumb
on her henna dyed palms
Ready to karate chop patriarchy
right on the face
She would be herself except
the moon and the stars and the flowers
turn away and
wretch their stomachs empty at what happens here
The butterflies light themselves on fire
For what happens in these mountains
There is a death sentence out for everything beautiful
Or for anything just
The state and society are keeping an eye out
making sure we lick enough boots
and say nothing out of turn
She would be herself except
She sits at the dinner table with her family
to be told how to be her, in her best interest
Been in circles where she gets spoken over
Made to feel some inches smaller
Invited to a pseudo safe space
only to be shamed or ridiculed
to be put on trial by social media
She would be herself except
she once took a bus
or a rickshaw
or an uber
went to the mall
went to Gowsia
or in front of Dhaka college
She could be herself except
She breathed
in some corner of this broken country
How dare she
That too without orna
Without military grade artilery in her purse
and insufficient knowledge of guerilla warfare
How dare she breathe
So she wishes to be somewhere
Away is out of here
Here they clip her wings at 7pm
Or 9pm or after office hours
Here metaphors and thought caricatures
barely make it out alive or free
What chance does blood, flesh and bone stand?
So patronizing, almost a cliché
Don’t we know it already?
And we know desensitization is the death of conscience
Her stories take the shape of every woman ever close to me
In response my thoughts turn
at the futility of improbable comfort
And the words they die in my mouth
they roll in their graves
hold candles in protest
slam against graveyard grounds
The bile I swallow back
corrodes through my insides
shame leaves holes in my soul
They haunt me as afterthoughts
As I wonder if could have formed the words
and if they could have meant something
So I take the words to the streets
And we will break down chatro league
and their bongo friend bong fanatical nationalism
bring down the entitled rich men
and their sons entrenched in inherited power
Stand against cops abducting my friends
Throwing tearing gases at us
Breaking the arms of our bravest
And if all I am doing is screaming
for the dismantling of politically sanctioned
and administered sexual violence
I will have it echo through the streets
I will keep screaming till my voice cracks
till I am coughing blood from strained chords
And I will spit the blood in their faces
Our hands have been forced to procure sticks
To take up stones
Something is bound to break
The woman, she says to me
Her purple tree has no leaves left
Only shades of nightmare
hanging on trauma entrenched branches
So I see the darkness thin
in the waning of the night
But I don’t believe in dawns anymore
Maybe someone after me will.
