I am hardly Devaki,
celebrated for the auspicious
womb that carried the divine.
But incarcerated in these four
lime-washed walls,
fading in the memories
of the husband who conveniently
remarried for a motorcycle,
a sofa set and an air cooler,
I did give birth to my Kanha
among the other Devakis
with no Vasudeva to ferry
their Kanhas safely out
to a picturesque Gokula
where peacock's feathers would
be woven in their hair.
Here the only feathers
are those of the crows,
that sometimes sit on the coping
of the high parapet walls.
-Neha Bansal
