By Anjali Chauhan
BLEEDING
Something has been broken
Some other has been torn
I feel a rush in my veins
There are drops of sweat over my forehead
My eyes are drowsy
Body feels weak
My legs are trembling
I’m bleeding
The blood’s flowing
Between my thighs
I don’t know from where I’ve got cut
But I know
This blood, my blood
Is not the product of wars
Of violence and hatred
It signifies life
Of theirs and mine
I bleed, and they don’t
But they talk of equality
And get silent on differences
Of uniqueness of the women and queer-kind
Some of us bleed every month
Others are made to bleed because they love all colours
Rests of us are mothers
They give birth to babies in a pool of blood
But at the sight of it
They turn faces, they curse us
Are they scared of our blood?
Or are they blind?
And then comes that blood
Which is celebrated worldwide
The blood of outcastes, enemies, powerless
And those who don’t fit in the binaries
The blood with which borders are drawn
The blood for which forests are burnt
And wars are fought and lost countries are bombed
Management of this blood becomes the State affair
Like development
And amid all this
We bleed for life
Anjali Chauhan is a feminist researcher, journalist, and writer based in India. She is currently pursuing a doctoral degree in Political Science at the University of Delhi and working with BehanBox, a feminist media website, as a consultant.
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