Country of Origin: India
(-based on the old Indian customs related to widows; they were forcefully stripped of all jewellery upon their husband’s death, the vermillion rubbed off their foreheads, hardly given anything to eat, made to sleep on the floor, forbidden to wear anything colourful, not allowed to look at any male relatives, the veil always drawn low)
Let me remove your veil
Whispers of women, barks of men; from fear do not turn away
Tears I vow to wipe, may I never again hear your hopeless wail.
Palms wizened from bearing a heavy pail
Your forehead may not be smeared with vermillion, but a price you needn’t pay
Let me remove your veil.
Scorn, disdain follow your timid trail
White flowers, a white shroud… Forced to forever sway
Tears I vow to wipe, may I never again hear your hopeless wail.
A tin plate with hardly any fare, the kitchen your lair; amidst the towering utensils, a dirtied, ebony dale
Not permitted to inhale the cool breeze outdoors in the season of May
Let me remove your veil.
Dreamless, on the accursed cold floor, you try to scratch with your nail
Touched not by the noon’s ray
Tears I vow to wipe, may I never again hear your hopeless wail.
You extend your hand to grab a feather, across the azure you hope to sail
I am prepared to become your wings, I daresay
Let me remove your veil
Tears I vow to wipe, may I never again hear your hopeless wail.
Thank you to Tia Credle for their inspired edit on this piece and everyone else on the Fiction team.
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