CRUCIFY HER : 4 Poems of rōzumarī saṃsāra

Extracted from memoriographia by rōzumarī saṃsāra. Born Rosemary Kikon, in Kohima, Nagaland, rōzumarī saṃsāra’s poems are autobiographically inspired by being born and bred Naga in a woman headed and women only household because as rose/rōzumarī emails, “our men passed on early.”

Mother’s Cross

You gave birth to six babies,
three boys
and three girls,
but two baby-sons died
and your only son
also had an early adult death.
People around you
went on and on and on,
that you’re good for nothing
a-husband-less,
a-son-less woman,
and your three girls
are just like you,
good for nothing too.
The local patriarchy
grounded on their Cultural Bible
the Customary Laws
brutally condemned you,
crucifying your broken soul
up above our– 74, Duncan Bosti house,
spitting at your helpless spirit,
cursing the female-you,
calling you degrading names
for refusing to live by their rules.
But your tormented rebellious soul,
quietly soaked-in all these
and you carried,
this painful Cultural Cross
but out of– all what you endured and more
you set your daughters free,
free from the barbaric shackles
of the merciless tribal patriarchy,
thank you– Mother for this most precious gift.

Crucify Her

Who is she?
Who is she?
Who is she?
The Daughter of a loser,
A Sister of a loser,
Her Mother, a divorcee
a Woman of loose morals,
the Clan, the Tribe and the Church
will not witness on her behalf.
She married an Outsider
know why?
No-one from a reputable family here
will marry her!
Now she is an Outsider,
this Loser,
She has no right–
To speak and write on our behalf!
And in a Medea like Greek-chorus
they came out to the streets
and screamed and shouted;
Shame on Her!
Crucify Her!
Crucify Her!
Crucify Her!
And from his Heavenly Paradise,
their foreign adopted God– Jesus Christ of Nazareth
looked down on his ardent tribal followers,
and wept.

Faultline

Between the female-me,
and my father, my brother and my nephew,
the tribal patriarchy drew
a dangerous fault-line.

Between the ugly-me,
and my pretty mother, sisters and friends,
unfair life drew
a dangerous fault-line.

Between the broke-me,
and my friends from wealthy families,
their parents’ bank account drew
a dangerous fault-line.

Between the tribal-me,
and my privileged high-caste friends,
the Indian caste system drew
a dangerous fault-line.

Between the brown me,
and my white husband, his relatives and friends,
the Imperial White-West drew
a dangerous fault-line.

The small strong-willed tribal woman
that I am,
I headbutt these fault-lines
creating frequent
disastrous emotional-quakes,
provoking unbearable irritation in me,
and in them,
times when it got too complicated
I shut my doors and windows
and curled-up to sleep,
next morning,
I woke-up rejuvenated
to continue my headbutt-battles,
to redesign my human relationships
to help us to transcend
these dangerous fault-lines
to meet them somewhere just as mere human beings.

Societal No-man’s Land

Hello, my Sista!
I tried to talk to you,
I really– tried to talk to you,
I really, really– tried to talk to you,
I really, really really– tried to talk to you
but you don’t understand me,
or you don’t want to understand me,
or you cannot understand me….
My words like alluring flowers
plucked carefully from the garden of my soul,
sent to you with the unique rhythmic beats of my heart
but when they touch your female ears
they evaporate into nonsensical noises
blocked by the malware
installed by the patriarchal operating system.
And now the years have quickly disappeared
silvering my hair and consuming my youthful being,
my soul has slowly arrived at life’s dusk
demanding from me,
all my energy to face my own mortality…
but till I take my last breath
I’ll wait for you,
I’ll wait for you,
I’ll wait for you, out there–
where the boundaries of patriarchy ends
at that societal– no-man’s land
and if you manage to find your way
and meet me there in this lifetime,
I’ll make a colorful garland for you
with what last words I find in the garden of my soul
and welcome you to the land of the– Free Spirits,
by gracing it around your neck.


memoripgraphia is available at:
Heritage Publishing House
Tajen Ao Road,
Dimapur, 797112
Nagaland, India
And online in India on ilando:

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ōzumarī saṃsāra (born rosemary kikon, in kohima, northeast india) graduated from delhi university, hong kong university of science & technology and ruhr-universität bochum, germany. she worked with several NGOs and INGOs but at 40 her destiny ferried her to copenhagen where she studied physical theater at the commedia school and she recycled herself into an artist with a unique female tribal fair.

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