The Curse of Her Anklet
I hear it every morning,
The euphony of her feet
As her anklets in silver jiggle,
While from the night she wakes up.
They scatter, and bustle
Like the leaves, they rustle
In tones scared and humble,
Afraid the master to its cacophony, would stumble.
Like the fetters, she ties them around
Locked in gold and silver beads tightly bound
The cackling, audible as to her chores she stands,
Calling in it’s might the P in Patriarchy to the same sand.
She walks in, singing to their tunes.
Climbs the roof, and cleans the silver spoons.
Like the cattle bells on my cows in the shed,
Every time she moves, of her motives the world dreads.
I recall the legend of Kannagi as I listen,
Of how her anklets sacrificed three lives with souls so barren,
A monument ungilded she was offered,
While her daughters like caged birds continue to be slaughtered.
"Are they really a thing of beauty?", I wonder
Deep in my heart, "Is it another prison in cover ?", I ponder
For if a wolf can disguise as a sheep,
So can slavery as a treasure to keep.
