A WOMAN'S HUNGER IS BLASPHEMY Poem BY Ananya Chatterjee

"Where do all the leftovers go?" You wonder and I say- They slither quietly down the entrails of a quiet woman. Heaped over, a dense mishmash of colourless curries from yesterday, day before ... and forevermore Their flavors flattened beyond the realms of taste. She eats in a rush always in a rush.. eyes lowered, curtained glance... She bites her lips smeared with grub clears her throat for another lump.. For her it's another job To be done. Nothing less. Nothing more. "And then? What happens then?" You wonder and I say- And then, somewhere in the airless dark.. a shadow lurks. A shadow lying in wait. More leftovers. For her quiet entrails. Another job to be done. Nothing less. Nothing more. "How can she take this day after day.. night after night.. this decaying taste of things from yesterday.. day before.. and forevermore.. How can she stand her terrible hunger? " You wonder and I say- Shut Up. Yes. Shut up. In a world choking on leftovers A woman's hunger is blasphemy.