The Cadaver

Sometimes I watch from afar
I stand by the cadaver,
watching as it stumbles,
as it crashes into rocks
drowning itself in swamps

It does not grieve me
because it did not happen to me
I leave its form behind
as the murky shadows approach

I have no part of it
This piece of flesh
which was never mine
It belongs to the early hawk
who must have its pecking

I chose to not see
when the hawk closed in
I looked away,
as the talons snapped,
I drowned out the grinding

It did not happen to me
This wasn't my being
I haven't lost a thing
and yet I am bleeding.

The other F-word

There's this F-word that's gotten me going these days. It's a rather misunderstood, misjudged word just like the people it seeks to describe. Feminism.

I remember growing up, I'd never looked it up in the dictionary but had gathered a rather negative connotation from the books I read and the people I heard talk. I always knew it was something undesirable, something not right, something shocking.

I did look up the dictionary a few days ago and it describes feminism as "the doctrine advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men".

Not very shocking, is it?

The thing about feminism is that the thoughts have to come first and by yourself. A lot of people who agree with everything that feminism stands for, do not like to be called feminists. It probably had a worse PR team than the Tata Nano.

When did I first start thinking about feminism?

I've always thought about it. I've always yearned to live in a society that promotes equality between all genders. I'd like to be challenged just as hard as anybody else just as I'd like the same breaks as anybody else. I'd like to live in a society where the roads aren't more unsafe for me than for a man. I'd like to live in a time where my life decisions won't have to be influenced by all the special diktats that need to be followed exclusively by people of my gender. I want neither the pedestal, nor the pits.

I've only recently claimed the word feminist for myself. Last year, I read a book by the lesser known Bronte sister, Anne Bronte,"The tenant of Wildfell hall". When it was first published, it caused a sensation introducing the revolutionary idea that a woman could leave her husband if she was not happy and still be the heroine in the novel. She could slam the door in his face if he abused her. She could earn her own living and support herself and her child. This sent shock waves in a society where at the time, divorcee women were treated like pariahs. If they left their husbands, they lost custody of their children and also all of the money that they brought themselves into the marriage.
I wonder how many women of the time read Anne Bronte's passionate book and felt compelled to reclaim their independence and to strive to make their lives better again. I call it a passionate book even in the absence of a central love story because a woman's desire to live her life and to turn it around for the better even when all her choices turn out to be wrong is quite exhilarating and probably a much higher passion.

Another thought is that you can be a feminist while not burning your bras and not laying away the shaver. Hell, you can even like men! You can joke about feminism and feminists while raising a toast declaring yourself one!

I've stormed out of the mountains,cracked the unyielding rocks to fragments
I've gushed gently by the little shrubs,cradled its fine seeds in my currents

I've been this or that,I've been one thing or the other and everything

I saw you along the way, you who feared me and yet loved me
You felt one thing or the other for me,
you thought the world of me and yet betrayed me.

-The River