World Voices

Poems about Hindu widows

Sweta Srivastava Vikram

• Publisher: Modern History Press
• Year: 2015
• ISBN:
  9781615992584
• Topic: Littérature
• Subtopic: Poésie

"Sweta Vikram captures bold raw passion, poignant reality and crafts a powerful voice for the voiceless."
--Kate Campbell Stevenson, Actor & Producer Wet Silence bears moving accounts of Hindu widows in India. The book raises concern about the treatment of widowed women by society; lends their stories a voice; shares their unheard tales about marriage; reveals the heavy hand of patriarchy; and, addresses the lack of companionship and sensuality in their lives. This collection of poems covers a myriad of social evils such as misogyny, infidelity, gender inequality, and celibacy amongst other things. The poems in the collection are bold, unapologetic, and visceral. The collection will haunt you. "Nothing short of sacred genius, Wet Silence reads with a sensual and dangerous grace. It is a body of work that ushers presence into absence and love into a world that has all but done away with the word."
--Slash Coleman, author of The Bohemian Love Diaries and blogger for Psychology Today. "Sweta's poems did a powerful job at highlighting the mental and sexual abuse, violence, loneliness and the pain experienced by millions of widows in India. Why I ask, is being a widow a crime?"
--Shruti Kapoor, Founder of Sayfty, an organization that helps women protect themselves against violence "In a gorgeous choir of reclaimed voices, Sweta Srivastava Vikram tells the stories of women forgotten and passed over, women silenced and without choices, women who 'don't exist'--Hindu widows. Through the magical breath of her poetry Vikram not only animates these women's hopes, sorrows, dreams, and defeats, she lovingly restores them to honor."
--Melissa Studdard, award-winning author of I Ate the Cosmos for Breakfast. From the World Voices series at Modern History Press
POE005060 Poetry: American - Asian American
SOC028000 Social Science: Women's Studies - General
FAM001000 Family & Relationships: Abuse - General

Silence became my lover, that’s why

Silence became my lover

Your world was between my hips,

others whispered with neem on their tongues.

But we never thought of our passion that way.

We were suffering, sleeping

on questions that we didn’t dare to ask.

Did our kisses become cancerous along with your lungs?

My tongue licked your earlobes,

looking for words—

sometimes there are no adjectives or adverbs

that work when there are unsaid words to be said.

Silence became my lover, that’s why.

Just so you know, my every kiss was real.

I wrapped them in turmeric and sandalwood,

left them in your urn wrapped in a white sheet.

Heartbeat

Were you hiding

beneath the weight of your empty

promises when I thought I saw you

in the moonlight, behind the banyan tree?

With a broken candle,

I walk barefoot with anklets,

call out to you in my dark hours—

your heartbeat has answered before.

We had a simple life,

your heart promised to beat for me.

Your death changed everything.

Some promises dissolve in the rain,

emerge as poems.

Fifteen

When girls my age were trying out bangles,

my pores were opening up,

my feet were lighting fires—

your hands over my blouse,

you would lean into me.

That was a sign that a kiss was about to happen.

Your mouth against mine—

your breath scented with mint,

my teenage breasts washed with rose petals.

I didn’t know

your every breath was miraculous.

That when I lifted your eyelids,

there was no story of our future in them.

A breathing heart was a given

like the wetness of June, I believed.

What did I know?

I was fifteen.

You are dead,

I am still trying to understand.

Solitude

When I try to open our bedroom door at midnight,

silence turns the key,

loneliness sleeps upon our pillow.

There is dust on our sheets,

where you once kissed my navel and thighs.

My chest swells like the ocean,

I hold in the waves.

Seeing ancient books of love poems

unopened on your desk,

I scream:

rain on me, universe,

cool the fire on my tongue.

I am afraid to fall asleep,

I am scared of the solitude

in my dreams.

Unshared words

I dreamt of you last night—

your cream chaddar tied into a knot

with my red sari, our hungry bodies making

rounds of Agni, uttering promises

we never talked about.

Did we know their meaning?

It was a weird dream.

In it, we looked happy.

But if that were the truth

I would have shown you

this letter when you were alive.

Eulogy

When we think

we can fix something,

there is no dearth of explanations.

But truth is truth—

like tasting a drop of ghost chilli infused tequila.

Even after twenty minutes, you can’t feel the tip of your tongue.

Do details matter?

The chai was burnt.

The daal had more turmeric than the yellow in a sunflower.

The okra wasn’t deeply fried, so your arteries are still alive.

The yolk in the egg decided to flood your toast.

You brought the blood-dried guns to our living room.

You found resolutions in cleavage that wasn’t mine.

It wasn’t the chai; the lies burnt your tongue.

You took the knife; cut me with your words.

Terrible accidents happen,

such is life.

They don’t stir me,

or make my spirit drop.

You couldn’t remain tied to a bed.

I am a lady,

but I didn’t promise

to sleep in your shadow.

We kept our dirty laundry

on separate shelves in the same closet.

I’ll rise

It wasn’t bad enough,

I had to kiss an old man’s mouth

with no smile or teeth. I never

leapt with delight in your embrace.

Now you know,

my salty tears di...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Foreword by Shaila Abdullah
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction
• I can hear a white cotton sari weaving at the shop
• I didn’t promise to sleep in your shadow
• Silence became my lover, that’s why
• Glossary
• About the Author