Poem: 'The Lordly Rape'

And then I was raped…
Trust is where it all started,
Giving way to his rains of emotions.
Drinking a glass of entertainment;
He promised me ‘love’.
Barely being the medicine to overcome all my pains,
He intrigued.
Just as the distance between glowing coals.
Closest when he came, I sensed the uncertainty was about to happen.
He smelled me, the animal in him was very new.
I reacted to his abnormality.
He shut my lips kissing me hard.
That’s not how the first kiss should be.
With his hands behind my head and corpulent body pushed against me.
Dry lips, chapped skin, bruised kiss, dry love
He was so sure, so confident and so distinct.
That his loathing eyes discovered me in full.
His tampering hands pounced my bust harder than ever,
His claws were like birds of prey
As if I was the last piece of his bread, and he didn’t want to delay.
The perpetrator parted my legs and came in
Cold blood ran through my spine
Mourning with élan,
I was unable to protest against ‘the animal’ in him.
While he was busy taking the flavour of my cream
It was my first time and he dug me deep
Wondering how rigorous lethal uncouth one could be
Forgetting his ambit.
I wished I could give a loud scream
But my hands were tied,
Honestly, I couldn’t move my legs.
Only I was able to feel the blood clots
And him kissing me tip to toe, licking me everywhere,
Without missing the opportunity he wrapped me like a silk cover,
Played me like a toy;
Ignoring the convoluted look on my face, he went on exploring me
Enjoying every push in between my legs
The need of his body seemed to reach the aisle.
I squirmed against the hegemonic animal
He knew not what ‘love’ was all about,
By then he was all a pernicious lynch.
Mastering the flame of hope I wished to tame the world, ‘the beauty of love’;
So that they would not have despoiled to gain
But sure enough, I never wanted to be loved like this.
Neither the pleasure could defeat the pain.
All I was left with was a sore breast, an eaten clitoris.
And myself in the bed lain.
That night, I looked up to the sky
With sad eyes,
The sky seemed so tragically beautiful.
Quilted memories, half-swallowed truth, prolonged journey, sullen songs
Some bitter, corroded, tasteless stories
Plunged into my head.
I talked to myself, “I must learn to live without tears.
I must not complain.
I must find my own strength to bear this alone.
We are cultured and civilised.”
I smiled at the moon and murmured, “Life is beautiful”. 

(Nibedita Sen is an expat, a foreign correspondent and defence journalist from India. Currently, she’s based in Israel and researching on various interesting topics related to communication and travel.)