On the altar of culture
Lies a trembling little lamb
Facing a ritual torture
With nothing to make her numb
The aunties holding her down
Are singing a circumcision song
Urging her to be strong
But it doesn’t take away her frown
They pull her skirt north
Drag her panties south
And push her legs apart
To expose her private part
She grits her teeth and shuts her eyes
As the lady with the rusty knife
Crouches in front of her thighs
To butcher her genital life
The feeling of her flesh being cut
Evokes a wilderness in her heart
She tries to wriggle herself free
But the aunties won’t let her flee
She screams till her face reddens
She sweats till her body glistens
She pleads till she can only whisper
She cries till she can only whimper
The circumciser applies herbs
That multiplies her pain
She wishes she could die
But her prayer is in vain
She sits in a pool of her own blood
For standing makes the pain flood
They congratulate her for ‘becoming a woman’
She answers them with silence for being inhuman
As she languishes in trauma
A village feasts awaits her recovery
Her parents rest assured of higher dowry
But alas, she slips into a coma…
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