Two Poems on Womanhood by Shirani Rajapakse
March 29, 2016 | By Shirani Rajapakse
Poetry on womanhood by Sri Lankan poet Shirani Rajapakse as part of Rhythm Divine, Kolkata’s collaboration with 6th Woman Scream International Art and Poetry Festival 2016.
But a poetess could soar to places no teacher could go.
The Poetess
She called herself a
poetess because she liked
the sound of it. Much
better than calling herself
a teacher. So plain, so
common,
so like the girl next
door. But a poetess
could soar
to places no teacher
could go. So she
told all she met she was a
poetess. A teacher too, but
now a poetess. It
was like graduating
from one level to the
next. The simple folks didn’t
understand, they thought
she had done something
great. She walked with a
spring to her step. Her
expression serious. They turned
around as they saw her pass.
She felt such pride.
At last
to be known. Even if to
just a few. They did
not know she had
nothing to show.
(Republished from the author’s blog)
Woman of the House
His voice lifted her. She was
caught in the light of his eyes. His words
guided her on her way.
He moved his lips and her arms rose
to obey. She picked up the load
silently groaning at the weight. Too heavy
for a frail body like hers already
battered like an old ship in a stormy sea.
He told her it was so and she
did as he bid. He left her to her chores to
indulge in more important things. Later
in the evening he returned
to inspect and smiled
at her effort. She moved back into her shell.
Her day was done but rest was still
far away. The clock hadn’t
struck the hour. Her silent groans
unheard, swallowed,
hard and dry like old chapatti.
(First published in Spark, Mar 5, 2014, India)
This poem is the Sri Lankan poet Shirani Rajapakse’s contribution as part of the 6th Woman Scream International Art and Poetry Festival 2016, the Kolkata chapter of which is being held on March 26.
March 29, 2016 | By Shirani Rajapakse
Poetry on womanhood by Sri Lankan poet Shirani Rajapakse as part of Rhythm Divine, Kolkata’s collaboration with 6th Woman Scream International Art and Poetry Festival 2016.
But a poetess could soar to places no teacher could go.
The Poetess
She called herself a
poetess because she liked
the sound of it. Much
better than calling herself
a teacher. So plain, so
common,
so like the girl next
door. But a poetess
could soar
to places no teacher
could go. So she
told all she met she was a
poetess. A teacher too, but
now a poetess. It
was like graduating
from one level to the
next. The simple folks didn’t
understand, they thought
she had done something
great. She walked with a
spring to her step. Her
expression serious. They turned
around as they saw her pass.
She felt such pride.
At last
to be known. Even if to
just a few. They did
not know she had
nothing to show.
poetess because she liked
the sound of it. Much
better than calling herself
a teacher. So plain, so
common,
so like the girl next
door. But a poetess
could soar
to places no teacher
could go. So she
told all she met she was a
poetess. A teacher too, but
now a poetess. It
was like graduating
from one level to the
next. The simple folks didn’t
understand, they thought
she had done something
great. She walked with a
spring to her step. Her
expression serious. They turned
around as they saw her pass.
She felt such pride.
At last
to be known. Even if to
just a few. They did
not know she had
nothing to show.
(Republished from the author’s blog)
Woman of the House
His voice lifted her. She was
caught in the light of his eyes. His words
guided her on her way.
He moved his lips and her arms rose
to obey. She picked up the load
silently groaning at the weight. Too heavy
for a frail body like hers already
battered like an old ship in a stormy sea.
caught in the light of his eyes. His words
guided her on her way.
He moved his lips and her arms rose
to obey. She picked up the load
silently groaning at the weight. Too heavy
for a frail body like hers already
battered like an old ship in a stormy sea.
He told her it was so and she
did as he bid. He left her to her chores to
indulge in more important things. Later
in the evening he returned
to inspect and smiled
at her effort. She moved back into her shell.
Her day was done but rest was still
far away. The clock hadn’t
struck the hour. Her silent groans
unheard, swallowed,
hard and dry like old chapatti.
did as he bid. He left her to her chores to
indulge in more important things. Later
in the evening he returned
to inspect and smiled
at her effort. She moved back into her shell.
Her day was done but rest was still
far away. The clock hadn’t
struck the hour. Her silent groans
unheard, swallowed,
hard and dry like old chapatti.
(First published in Spark, Mar 5, 2014, India)
This poem is the Sri Lankan poet Shirani Rajapakse’s contribution as part of the 6th Woman Scream International Art and Poetry Festival 2016, the Kolkata chapter of which is being held on March 26.
March 29, 2016 | By Shirani Rajapakse
