The cursed tree

The noose of society was tight on her neck.

She hung on the tree of caste,

With scratches of discrimination on her palms.

The blood of her jaati still flowed in her veins.

The stamp of domination and authority was vibrant on her forehead,

And the mist of fear around her was still not clear.

The fasal of submission was harvested every year in her village,

And the hall of self-respect was used.

She didn’t even know what the tree stood for,

When she was hung on it.

The tree that shook when a new body was hung,

But it never fell.