lionbikash

I am on my monthly pilgrimage,
on my monthly pilgrimage to watch;
an eighteen year old widow and mother
sitting in a corner of the medical camp,
waiting for some rice and dal,
and medicines.
She looks up as her name is called,
I look at her eyes,
blank eyes, as if asking,
What is my fault?

It’s only two years of that fateful night,
the most memorable night for any girl,
Her wedding night.
She was at her best, bedecked with Saree and jewelry,
waiting for her GOD, her husband.
How she would have known?
her GOD has given her the wedding gift
The deadly HIV virus.

It is only two years.
Her husband, her GOD
left this world
left her alone to be condemned
by the society,
left her with a child, also infected
left her to die
A most cruel death.

I look at her eyes,
silently asking for her forgiveness
on behalf of all the human race,
on behalf of the cruel Almighty,
who has given her this wretched life,
for none of her fault.

This is my pilgrimage,
to give them a sense of life,
to share with them a few laughs,
to give them some solace
and a better dignified death.