The Witch Hunt

When they paraded her naked,

jeering at her, condemning her to be the "dayan"

her ancient breasts on her wrinkled body

were wounded by the stones pelted.

Her stoic eyes surveyed the scene

refusing to shed a single tear,

rested for a flickering moment on me

and i averted mine in cowardice.

Refusing to acknowledge those years of affection,

she showered on her neighbor's children.

Denying the tangy taste of raw mango candy

that she hid in our pockets magically

and wearing of those hibiscus and frangipani flowers

with which she tidied our unruly hair.

Abnegating those myriad times when her timely interruption

saved us from our mothers' beatings

and also forgetting her "knowing teasing" look as

I eyed, courted and eventually married her only niece.

And I let them burn her at stake

for the sickness of village children

and deaths of three cows and one half-blind dog,

knowing well it to be the pretext

to grab her half an acre land.

- Neha Bansal

Requiem for the Earth

seasons changed, years passed

but the cycle of Life continued

what died yesterday, bequeathed an inheritance on today

and Death was won over.

the bountiful mother nurtured us,

fulfilled our every need....

But, today, slowly writhing in agony,

the terminal patient waits for her death,

surrounded by her sons

whose eyes twinkle in insatiable greed...

- Neha Bansal

photo courtesy : Deepak Rao

pawns

No, I am not Scheherazade,

nor was meant to be,
and i don't know a thousand stories
that would salvage me.

He would certainly behead me tomorrow,

a promise sealed with kiss.

The dawn would soon break

and end the briefest bliss.

The hunter would prey again,

renew his vows in confetti shower,

and i enslaved to an indifferent him,

would pray for his heightened power.

I want her to suffer my fate

No, she must not win him over.

No, this bloody rite must never end

and he must find a newer lover...
- Neha Bansal