To the woman in me
They taught you
Even before you could think
To think ten times
Before you sit, you wear, you speak,
Or before you step out of the house.
Now you think ten times
Before you love, you trust
Or even hope.
You dangle between to think or not to think,
Some days you overthink
About overthinking
That you let go and stream so what?
And you do things you'd only do
If your demons were fed tequila
Or they were handed a pair of scissors,
You wake up with severed ties
With reality next morning,
A reality where you've to work hard
And strive harder to be taken seriously.
You'd be underestimated or overestimated.
If there is one idea of God
You'd worship it's balance
Something between ten hands of Durga
And Safa-Marwa of Haggerar.
Warning: God has slipped away
We must confirm the worst of our righteous fears—
God has escaped the mosque, the temple,
The church, the guruduara, the synagogue,
Where we've locked God up for years.
Beware- "God is on the loose."
You may find God in pagan beauty.
You may stumble upon God unaware.
Take every measure-
Behave as if each human being
Could reflect God's face.
Gods are on the microphone
'cause it's easy to follow the loudest voice in the room,
It's easy to believe the ones screaming over the microphone
Not because of their truth but because of flashy words.
But humanity couldn't be represented by just one God,
So we made them in the millions.
But aren't we the very people who still kill over Gods?
Gods are on the microphone
And there're voices that can't be seen
Just for the reason they can't be on your screen of your news feed.
Gods are on the microphone
That's why there're voices that can't be heard
'cause of the overpowering background a capella,
There are voices that won't talk
Not 'cause they don't want to but 'cause they know
That all the ears have gone behind pretty faces on a microphone.
Gods are on the microphone,
Which is to say,
The men, the cisgenders, the alloromantics, the allosexuals,
The Brahmins, the abled(s), the non-tribals, the heterosexuals,
Are on the microphone,
Which is to say- pass over the microphone!
Gods are on the microphone
Who won't tell you stories
Where she doesn't want to be the hero,
The villain, the comedian or the clown.
She just wants to be the ink, let her bleed,
But most importantly let her voice be heard.
Which is to say-
Step aside from the microphone.
The worm knows better
Than to chew a hole
Through the entire leaf.
She picks and bites,
Sleeps where she eats
Sleeps where she shits.
My parents know better
Than to chew a hole
Through their marriage.
They pick and bite,
Lie down where they fight
Sleepless on opposite sides.
Savarna feminism plays pin the blame
Why feminism calls me agressive,
Says I'm too loud,
Too much attitude, too much sucking teeth?
Why feminism swings have privilege wrapped around?
Savarna girl is always right
And she gets to decide parameters of politically correct culture
She's the queen of call out
With a flick of a wrist, she gets to be the bouncer of all things feminist
She's armed with The Print and OpIndia articles
My feminism is going to write a think piece
On why your feminism needs modification
Savarna feminism asks me a question
And then turns to the nearest Brahmin woman for validation
It's almost as if my opinion is three-fifths of hers
Or if I should be used to having ideas shot down by Savarna people
It's well known that I can't stand Amish Tripathi
But why my feminism asks me to cry it down
Savarna feminism says, I've to support every woman having a platform
Even if it's built off my back!
Savarna feminism only works for her own ego
Only to lift herself higher than the identities
That she profits off or writes poems about their pain
Citing solidarity as a source
Savarna feminism would protest in the tweets
Rather than the streets
She will lead class discussions on caste system
As she can put me down as a reference
She plays the ventriloquist if she can play in my skin
But I refuse to play games.
Why feminism swears she can't be racist
When feminism goes to parlours for bleaching
And holds her arm next to mine for comparison
Sometimes for laughs, she wears a hijab
And colours herself with religious unity
Savarna feminism asks if I want to sit down and discuss my issues
As if anything has ever been given to a Muslim woman
As a result of sitting down and discussing
I know I've to bleed in order to show this world
That I'm a human too
Savarna feminism says, she wants to fight side by side
But what she wants is for my browner-than-brown behind to carry her uphill
So she can make a shield out of me for her subtle bigotry
Make me her token queer friend
Make me a target ready for her to pin the blame on me at any moment.
About the Poet:
Nashrah Tanvir writes about mental health, feminism, and Islam. Her poems have previously appeared in Magic Pot, The Hindustan Times, Gulmohar Magazine, The Radiant, and AZE Journal.