Sunday, November 26, 2006

poem: honour killing by ifti nasim


A stab in the uterus,
a gun shot in the heart,
a burning stove becomes a pyre,
Verbal insults crush the soul
like glass bangle, and then
swallowing them like razor blades
Cutting me inside. No one knows where
it hurts. Slap across the face
stinging like cold wind
upon an open wound.
I am telling you the experience
Which you have experienced
over the centuries.
I know you cried when you gave birth to me.
Many nights you did not suckle me
with a hope that I die but
I am stronger than my brother is.
You never told me that I am the bride of
the whole male clan just like you.
And whenever they want they can kill me in
The name of their honor.
Promise me. You will never give birth
to me as a daughter
next time.