Kamala Das Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

Kamala, all the time hear I complaining against your husband
And you after the things of your own
In a very confessional way,
Interpreting the sexual dreams of yours,
Feeling the heat of the Indian summer not,
Nor the siestas of it
When the loo, heat wave blows it hard
Sucking blood, drooping down with sunstroke

But talk you in a very sensuous way about the summer of the body,
The hunger of the body,
You in sweat and perspiration
Talking of bodily heat and summer
And putting the allegation around
That your spouse is not good enough
And the critics believing you blindly
Which but I cannot accept it.

Do whatever you have to, but blackmail not anyone
And if this be, why did you not allow your husband
To say the things of his
Rather you saying them all yourself,
Only then the things would have come out
Otherwise the things will remain one-sided,
Give us the chance to verify them.

Whatever say you, I cannot believe you, Kamala,
Maybe you an awardee poetess,
Have won laurels and accolades
For your womanly poetry,
But don’t, don’t think it so
That there are no learned men like you,
Your histrionics, we can understand it well,
What you are, you yourself too cannot understand it,
Always trying to be in the media limelight.

Kamala, are you a poetess of the body, not the soul,
Are you spiritually sick,
Are you mad after sex,
Are you normal, this say you,
Who are you, who are you, Radha,
Or, are you Mira,
Who are you, Kamala?

Are you a shisya of Achara Rajneesh
Explaining sambhoga to samadhi,
Are you a reader of Vatsyayana’s Kamsuttra
Or of D.H.Lawrence’s guru-shisya prem
And mother-son fixation psychological story,
Who are you, who are you, Kamala,
Say you? .