Oh, I will be mother

My womb is a war ground

witnessing bloodshed

after bloodshed.

My vulva isn’t the one you might call

a sweet pussy; it is

a frothing bloodhound.

If you dare listen to it

Somewhere deep within is an urn that hisses

Voices of dead children.

Do not ask me to bear any. For,

i’ll mother skeletons,

crush them in a mortar and

spread them across this brown land of yours

until all its cracks of hate is filled,

sealed and satiated.

Oh, i will be mother.

i’ll draw with my blood a crow

Or let my lust take shape

of a vulture.

Someone should feed on the corpses

you ceaselessly dump in my yard.

Oh, i will be mother.

i’ll birth wolves

that shred your maps

cutting people, scrape your

last dregs of power, and

tear the tongues of language

Oh, i will be mother.

i’ll bring forth witches

who’d hunt down every hate bone in your body

burn them until it splinters.

And i’ll dance around

as the charred memory of our oppression

goes up in smoke.

Oh, i will be mother.

Sorry i’m not your fertile land

But darling, i’ll be the burial ground for

maggots that prey on

the mangled breasts of my daughters

You leave half-eaten.

Oh, i will be mother.

i’ll pour out lava

Consume men like wildfire

And when all the walls you built,

the lines you drew, the books you writ

crumble to ash,

when this earth no longer remembers words 

that once reeked of

religion, race, colour, caste, creed or sex,

Maybe then 

i’ll spread myself and celebrate 

motherhood.

And this earth, too, will thrive.

Oh, i will definitely be mother.

But until then

Remember, even wildflowers

Do not grow on war grounds.