I, a woman

My brittle nails become the sharpest knife 
Under the light of obscure scrutiny
When the night falls 
I tear my skin apart 
In bits and pieces 
I am a cannibal.
With crimson ocean running through my veins 
I have been to countless places.
I have lived in my mother’s dreams,
In her rage
In her struggles 
In her prayers 
In her hope 
In her bangles 
In her teep.
I pranced in her dreary eyes,
Where love rested.
I nestled in her smile,
Like bright orange paint drying on a white wall.
For I, her little girl
Have always existed 
In my mother’s tear-stained cheeks 
Like a bright pearl shining inside the sea.
I am my mother’s rage.
Her despair 
Her desire
For I, a woman 
Have always existed,
In her sweaty forehead 
Glistening like a star on a clear night sky. 
 

Jannatul Naeem Tasmiah is a student of English Literature at Jahangirnagar University.