Kali, my mother and grandmother and mother before her,
A collective of women clapping their hands
Going round and round the Stone.
Kali on the labour bed
Pushing out her child
Screams on her lips, sometimes grim silence.
Kali, violated, drugged, mutilated
She slays the slayer
In her head.
Kali hums a tune
And bathes her child
She smells her baby as though it is the last breath she will take
Kali with pointed tongue and knowing eyes.
A mural on the wall
She tells you a story.
Kali, my mother and grandmother and mother before her,
A collective of women clapping their hands
Going round and round the Stone.
…
Neelima Vinod is a writer and Editor in Bengaluru. Obsessions include books, twins, punctuation and the paranormal.
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