A Poem by Kamala Das
I am a million, million people
Talking all at once, with voices
Raised in clamour, like maids
I am a million, million deaths
ox-clustered, each a drying seed
Someday to be shed, to grow for
Someone else, a memory.
I am a million, million births
Flushed with triumphant blood, each a growing
Thing that thrusts its long-nailed hands
To scar the hollow air.
I am a million, million silences
Strung like crystal beads
Onto someone else’s
P.S: I have posted this poem here for those students studying Das and have difficulty in finding her poetry. 🙂