What Am I To Her & She To Me?

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Sukrita Paul writes a surreal, enigmatic poem that punches your gut and calls your conscience.

Seven moons away is when I met her
on a travel away from home
half my height
in size less than half
hollow eyes etched on craggy cheeks
the white leaping out of dark crevices
a dwarf clad in rags
wrapped in half a saree

alone amidst children of sizes all
men and women tired of it all
her wrinkles trembled as she said
we are “ghumantu” —
made criminals by history
brought together in this slum
to fend for ourselves with
these fingers that are a lump



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