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Every woman nurtures in her womb, a dream.

The surge of raging hormones, fuel her need

for love,

for child,

for man seed.

Those tears that she sheds at that time of the month

Are not without reason. It is nature’s design to make her


A requiem

for a dream.

As that monthly burst of blood rushes from my gut,

A spasm of agony wrecks my body, the agony of lust.

I twist.

I turn.

I gush.


© Vidya Venkat (2020)


Published by Vidya Venkat

Ph.D. candidate in Anthropology at SOAS, London. Formerly, journalist at The Hindu, Chennai.

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