She was a spring water pool,
untouched until yesterday.
Stomped in with dirty feet,
stirred to murky waters,
she met her drought at the hands
of savages in her safe haven.
Today, she is a bunch of
social media hashtags for justice.
She leaves behind a question,
if not memories,
if not echoes of her screams,
if not pain.
not on the streets, not after seven,
not in the shops, neither buses nor cabs,
and now on, not at your own home,
not even under the sun!
Lest you want to disintegrate into hashtags
and television talk-shows
or even a poem or many,
if you die heart-wrenchingly enough.
Let me tell you —
There is a cord that connects you
to your mother,
if you would go back to her womb.
If the sonologist doesn't give you away,
and if the curettes or pills don't take you already,
maybe you can hang yourself
with your umbilical cord before you slide out
to the world of eyes, reprimands, tongues,
shameless fangs and guiltless boners.
© Sana Rose 2020