water wives

On this piece of a very parched Earth 

I walk ten thousand leaden steps 

under the burning merciless orb, 

We call the life-giving Sun 

dangling on hips a pot full of water 

while I carry two on my stiff head 

to provide succour to my thirsty hearth  

where the heavily pregnant first wife 

Of my middle aged husband 

bake millet chapatis for the master of the house, 

as I wash away the dirt, sweat and blood 

to ready myself for the nightly chores 

befitting a dutiful new wife. 

-Neha Bansal

 

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