Street Corners

A reflection from my field days. Street corners is the story of the invisibility of violence against women. This poem is the outcome of my interactions with women on the street trying their best to live, love and die with dignity.

Crafted I was in a shoe-man house,

My brothers and I were leather bound,

The loving hands that created my soul

Coughing over winter nights forlorn,

I was a dandy of the shop that adorned,

The best amongst the lot,

I stood tall, invincible and proud

For I knew I was priceless and beautiful without a shroud

Of guilt I stood out, craning my neck

For the beautiful dame’s grace

Oh the hands that touch me

The yearning that sets in to please,

This creature with my tease

Fidgeting to fit in right,

Tested and tried- the small walk, the gallop

The squeal of joy, the rush of adrenaline,

The journey into the unknown, a land of dreams

To travel and see the world and all beautiful things

The walk, the strut, the swinging motion

The marble floor, the soft mosaic…like satin on rose

Urghhh what happens here, the pushing and the jostling

The feet I adorn, kicking and falling

Collapsing on my soul, this woman of price

A one-dime room and a brute for the night

Kicked, torn apart, raped and hurt

I survive, blistered is my soul

I crawl and lick my wounds

Something ruffles beneath my side,

I heave and find papers with marks of the might,

Scattered on the floor they lie

A testimony to the violence of the night

The hands that bend to collect them let out a sigh

The cold feet grapples for my sight

Kicked torn raped and hurt

I survive, blistered in my soul

I walk the satin rose that hurt my body like thorns

I walk with my head bent low

Counting the pebbled street slow

Bending, twisting, falling, standing

The marathon, I must finish

To my creator I must replenish my soul

To the world adieu I bid

The graveyard of hell I have lived!