I was just a girl of five,
always spunked, always live.
springy curly hair running lose wild,
at every moment, at every stride,
a free spirited five year old child
I was still the carefree child
nothing to worry nothing to hide
when the seventeen year old ,
a neighbour, or so i was told
called me in for a game of carrom board
i went with him, the naive toddler,
the piquant little chatter
expecting a harmless banter,
but a mute spectator,
to the traumatic encounter,
of a stranger lifting her skirt and pulling her undies down,
undies down, down, down.
holding her against the mirror,
as she still sees the dance of her unruly hair
her vagina splayed by his probing fingers
rubbing the walls, tapping the clit; sending shivers!
'something's wrong', she's aghast,
looked into the mirror and see for a fact
the strange stare straight into her eyes, intact.
Strange stare. Strange Stare.
trauma was different this time,
'lucky me', being the mime
he didn't strangle me, in that very little time,
he didn't rape me, make me endure the crime!
he didn't push me to my death,
he just pushed my vagina walls in a path,
circle and square, slow and fast.
'cute', he whispered in my ears.
i was still a child,
when he washed his finger; 'hide bud, hide!'
i was still that five year old child.
when molestation was all my fault: my side!
i was a child of ten,
when a stranger groped my breasts,
like he did his mother's as he was fed
i was a child of eleven,
not a lass not a woman,
when a man thought I'm his penis's fan
nope you douche, it's a disgusting plan.
a child, growing up in India.
i was a child building her life in Kerala.
have that spirited little child,
tucked in me, with that ease and glide,
who was not let to wither in tide
but to triumph in pride!