Tag: poem-14 (বাংলা)

I said,
Sisters, dear sisters,
let us take to the streets.
Let us claim our rights.
They said,
Are we whores?
Streetwalking women?
We are respectable,
honoured housewives.
I said,
Raise your voice,
let your tone turn sharp.
They raised their voice,
practised it morning and evening.
The master of the house, swaying on the balcony easy-chair,
listened attentively.
Even dozed off a little.
Then he called out.
Hey there, that’s enough now.
Bring me a strong tea,
with plenty of milk.
Sister dropped everything
and ran as if for her life.
I said,
Sister, speak up.
Let words bloom on your lips,
let a fierce fire burn in your eyes.
Take up a pen.
Write.
The sisters took up
lip liner, eyeliner, mascara.
And so much more!
Carefully they painted their lips, painted their eyes.
The brothers, lying in bed,
smiled to themselves.
I said,
Take up a toolbox.
Sister said, laughing,
Why would I need a toolbox?
Isn’t there a makeup box?
He brought me one just last month.
I spend hours and hours with it
at the dressing table.
I said,
Sister. Become a labourer,
stand on your own two feet.
Let your body grow strong.
They lined up
at the modern gym.
Week after week of workouts,
they lost weight.
They built for themselves
a slim waist, a full hip.
Two soft, supple thighs.
Our men were secretly pleased.
They counted, one more time, the curves of woman,
burned, one more time, in the fire of desire.
They advanced toward the sisters
with even greater urgency.
The sisters understood,
the sisters knew.
Let patriarchy remain, then.
What difference does it make.
Man, after all, is tamed —
still he comes running,
like a moth to the flame.