Two poems by Nuzhat Mannan
artwork by kanta
Children
No one knows them moreor loves them better.
As they are mine… from
my navel snuggling
colony, my walled womb.
They are my natives
of my blood and tissue,
prostrate in
my shackled domain.
And no surge of resistance
or thrust of revolution
will ever set my mostly placid brood
free from me one day
for
No one keeps them better
or gives them more.
Trousseau
For you, my daughterthe flesh colour
the burgundy
the topaz chiffon
the sheer and the
pale lace
the gold rosettes
the emerald sheen
and antique pearl drops
Venetian glass and
Bavarian 'broidery
the matte powder
the floral whiff
a sachet of
longing and
a plunging
price tag.
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