Draupadi's Angry Hair
She undid her hair
during exile,
swearing to never tie them she had sought revenge.
Again until
Her anger-burnt,
blood-stained locks,
once her beauty,
now
the poetry of her hunger.
for blood,
for vengeance,
the self
that a man gambled away.
the body that,
men skinned for sport
while a court rich in cowards
watched,
with their mouths sewn shut.
She has now been reborn as a tree-temple:
they worship her hair now, these fossil-rivers of locks.
Someone decorates her hair
with a rose every day.
an island-calm gift of pink,
as if to plead for her to be angry no more.
No one likes an angry woman, least of all an angry goddess.
But anger is her ornament
and talisman and breath
and that organ without she cannot live.
She will eat the rose over the night, swallowing the heart and spitting out the petals.
~ Samarpita (@buttercupspotify )
Tagging some tumblrinas
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