I opened the door and served him dinner. While he ate,
I stayed there, just in case he needed water or some extra beans.
We didn't talk. He didn't ask 'Why are you up so late?'
The only sound breaking the silence was the spoon
clicking against his plate. Later,
I would sleep only to find him gone the next morning.
This had been my daily routine for I was his spouse,
living as a stranger in his house.
But something different happened that night.
He moved and lay right next to me;
flung his arms around my waist
and kissed my neck. I shrugged and
tried to wriggle out of his tight embrace.
'No, I am tired', I whispered. It didn't matter for he was tired too;
in need of some leisure
and so my body for him was a pleasure.
I shared with my family and they laughed it off.
Some said 'You are young, married and a beauty'
while some told that it's my duty.
I filed for divorce, but a counsellor was appointed
who advised to give a chance and save it.
I couldn't believe I was being asked to come to
terms with my rapist.
I cringe at being a woman for people stared
when I roamed with the boy I chose, but never cared
when I turned in a bride of a stranger.
Before I could dream of wearing a cape, of showing by bold shades,
I wore a saree and managed housemaids.
Running errands throughout the day, I longed for sleep
but, my duties were still not over.
I had to make love even if I didn't want to
because he was not just my husband, he was my owner.
If I leave him, I have no character.
If I run away, I am way too weak.
These opinions scare me and they are everywhere
but solutions nowhere.
That night comes every weekend now and I just
lay helplessly while that cape still waits for me eagerly.