away from the farm

Think of the lass leaving for the harvest

Maybe she will be hauled off to their farmhouse,

Or maybe they will get her innards out of her body, there and then

When they ask her about her dreams

Or they talk about women who love catcalling,

Their disembowelment heaves to the sight

Their eyes overflow with the dreams of her vagina

They were searching for it around

A lust for psychological manipulation of masturbation

Washes over their dreams of things that match their level

She’d ask her father — how could you survive such swamps?

But he was just a troll.

Just one of them.

The testimony lay underneath the layers of eternities.

What horrible taste in people!

And the farm was drenched in the blood of labours.

I don’t know if she dreamt of places unlike that village but I did.

There’s a planet at the edge of the universe not unlike the earth in landscape and atmosphere.

But its inhabitants are not.

The post goes to ‘Sunday writing prompt‘ hosted by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.

Published by Smita Ray

Smita Ray is the mother of two lovely kids and hails from northeastern India. Her perpetual displeasure arising from the hypocrisy in the society underneath the semblance of religion, culture as well as the conditioning for compliance urged her to put down the impressions in her mind. In her spare time, she likes to have some culinary adventures along with her kids trying new recipes or crafting. She describes herself as -- a soulmate, a life alighted on the earth catching the rhythm passing by her. A tinge of joy colours her world and lays its feet on the land where revellers are awaiting her to get into the groove.

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