to men

Had your antigens lost their way,
you’d be her – naked, bitten,
like a half-eaten browning apple
on Sonepat’s street edge.
Rikshaws would stand by to watch
white nipples gleaming like eyes in darkness, staring.
and maroon hues blend into black forming patterns;
you would hear them say, “she sleeps
in the gutter when her brothers look away”,
and pedal away in a cycling race
because whose job is she anyway?,
They would wheel back home to tighten
their behens’ windows.

Cameras would arrive to flash and scream prayers
for the brother, father.
Who would whiten their shame?
who would whiten the black spot
where you lay naked,
penetrated?

Oh dear, wait.
Your antigens found their way.
not mine.
You took away my voice
for a ransom that never arrived
and my muted words die
as you close my book.
I cease
’cause it is your day today.
Your card shows XY;
Your antigens found their way
you won the game
It is your day today.