By Susmita Chatterjee Alias Aloakash
The moon tree menstruates
On the full moon night
Foliating herself in sprouts
Her aura rejuvenated in the median
Awakened that she is after eons
She no more questions
Why menstruation is considered a taboo
Chandburi, the aged woman of the moon, as she is called
By her kith and kin
Now knows herself to be a marmite
She spreads her feather roots deep inside
The morass marking time in her cycle
Without meddling with the madness
that cultural meanings surround her with
Chandburi, my lover, morphs inside me
As I feel the moraine piled up in my lower abdomen
I bid adieu to those muddle headed thinkers
A pain, sharp and shooting, leaves me
In a monad that I and chandburi am
The Mobius strip girdling my waist
Drops of blood adoring my full moon night
I plunge
The modalities of five senses leading to the sixth
The sense of wholesome joy that cannot be misspelt anymore
Charm of the full orb melting the sap of alchemical goal
Moulds leaves of knowledge eyes
By Susmita Chatterjee Alias Aloakash
Feminity is expressed beautifully