Under The Mango Tree: Uttar Pradesh Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Taj Mahal's love tale is eternal
Built by a prince to mark lost bridal joys
White marble sculpted in a vast farewell
Fashioned with all the grandeur wealth employs

Two Dalit girls, each shy as a gazelle
Walked from their village with a maiden's poise
Towards the toilet field as evening fell
The youngest, barely past the age of toys

Into the dark of gang rape's special hell
No one to hear their screams, their anguished noise
No policeman's word those rapists to repel
No god to quell the beast-lust that destroys

The mango tree bore sorrow, the bombshell
Of two hanged girls, (such fruit brute man enjoys)
The funeral pyre cracked with its bitter smell
But as the statesman said, ‘Boys will be boys'