For Sarita
The home she could not build, the dawn she didn’t see
The child she could not mother, the wife that she’ll never be
Relics of the past, a future’s reverie,
Wrecked dreams,
And a scalpel knife,
Daughter of this college, we give you this dowry.
The child she could not mother, the wife that she’ll never be
Relics of the past, a future’s reverie,
Wrecked dreams,
And a scalpel knife,
Daughter of this college, we give you this dowry.
Spluttered in blood, helpless she remained
through hopes of a life, for quick death she prayed.
The last thing she saw: herself in a bride’s veil
And then she cried, before her soul set sail...
The murky autopsy room, the cold bloody marble bed
Her body ripped apart, now sewn as a gunny bag
Now she’s nothing but a shadow of remains.
Wrecked dreams,
And a scalpel knife,
Daughter of this college, we give you this dowry...
(This poem is dedicated to my dear friend Dr
Sarita Toshniwal, who was found murdered while on duty at the
Gynaecology ICU, at dawn. The culprit is still unknown.)
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