Simran Keshwani

Time Warp

 

There is no cure
To a bird hit hard with
A passing arrow.

It wasn’t intended to pierce through
The fabric of her being
Or make clots where there had been
Place for new life to reside.

It was shot in pure
Ecstasy.

An ecstasy so innocuous,
The trees that missed the arrow
Would look sinister.

The grand imbroglio of death
Danced around the young bird
Because
She was learning to fly

Why couldn’t she stay on the ground?
She should’ve seen it coming.

She stood between his wild ecstasy.
The arrow, his.
The sky, his.
The gun, his.
The world, his.
She stepped, inside.
She died.

Who killed her?
Not him, only the arrow!
Only the bullet!

 

About

Simran Keshwani is an Indian author, now studying International Relations from Australia. A graduate from LSR, DU, she’s the author of Becoming Assiya: The Story of the Children of War, a sort-of-dystopian novella.
When asked what her idea behind this poem was, she said “violence, arising from the deep trenches of patriarchy … Male violence only stops at complete invisibility for female”. In a world of awakening for equality this poem is something that speaks through a basic condition.

 

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