Red trickles down my thighs
And I am suddenly impure
Forbidden to do so many things
An account I can’t keep

I cannot touch the temple
Nor can I pray to God
Even watering the holy Tulsi
Is out of question

Entering the kitchen is a sin too
Neither can I cook for others
Nor for myself
Because I am suddenly so impure

As if that wasn’t all
I cannot even share my pain with anyone else
Speaking the name is a taboo
Some disease, that should remain unnamed

If I am so impure
Why did you shower so much love on that baby
It is born of that blood which made me impure
It is born of that blood you fear so much.

So, as you might have guessed this poem is on menstruation. While it isn’t such a big taboo in my home, it is a taboo in a lot of Indian homes, and I just thought I would speak about it. Hope you liked the poem!

7 thoughts on “Impure

Add yours

  1. πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘ This is really true in some houses! It’s the naturalest thing, but some make a very BIG deal! You did a great job, writing the poem!


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