A black sky weeps for me,
Though it wears the hues of blue.
They! They will bury me deep –
Not in some garden of roses,
Nor where opulent lotuses renew
Their sprightly moods.

Without a state of dazed stupefaction,
They will bury me deep.

 

When death draws near me,
There will be no wailing.
For their greater safety,
They will discard my memory,
Forever and ever.
No one will know:
I was betrayed among humans
For being a Girl in the womb.

 

However, up to my lips, hope plays a song.
It is light-hearted as a crimson dawn…
Saying: Give me a chance! One chance!
I, too, love the soft drizzle
Of pendent-rain.
I, too, would sing by a sunny brook.
Give me a chance to live,
By a blessing of luck.

 

A black sky weeps for me,
Though it looks blue.
They will bury me deep –
Not in some garden of roses,
Nor where opulent lotuses renew!
Their sprightly hues.
Without a state of dazed stupefaction,
Oh! They will bury me deep.

November 2012 

                          

Geeta Chhabra