12th. International Writers’ Festival-India
(An international Conference of Poets, Writers & Scholars)
(23-24 October, 2018, Indore (Madhya Pradesh)-India
Surjeet Kalsey Reading Poetry Today from Her New Book – “REFLECTIONS ON WATER”
Today is April 20, 2018/Poetry Month’s Poetry Reading
SHAZIA HAFIZ RAMJI
Friday, April 20 / 6:30- 8:30PM
City Centre Library Surrey/Room 200
Hosted by Surrey Poet Laureate: RENEE SAROJINI SAKLIKAR
.International Women’s Day – March 8
A Century of Our Struggle!
by Surjeet Kalsey
100 yeas of struggle:
women of the world marching on
continuously marching on
and keeping their struggle alive
for equality, respect and dignity!
Yet the destination is far far away
there were thorns and stones on the path!
Marching through centuries on the rough road
our hearts ache and our feet bleed with blisters.
Somewhere on the way we are lost!
As if we fail to feel the pain of another
of our own and stand against each other
making to feel insulted and ridiculed
in front of others in the crowd.
Still marching on the never ending path
women hold hands and many banners
marching endlessly together!
Sometimes we feel that we fail
ourselves, our own struggle, and
we ourselves squeeze our own blisters!
Shamelessly, nothing moves forward
we are still on the margin, we are
still being stoned, still being raped
the violence has not stopped
seems as if we have failed ourselves
and we are blamed for. The society,
the history, the trends, the attitudes
are still chanting Manu Simriti….
A century long history of our struggle
will continue to end our sufferings
Our sacrifices will continue to get freedom
from prejudices and offerings of humiliation.
Struggle will continue, March on! March on!
by Surjeet Kalsey
Yes, they are still sitting there
quietly waiting for someone
someone will come
and inscribe their fate
on their foreheads
or a stream of passion
would sprung up from within
or a straw would become a pen.
Women are sitting in the house
as if they are sitting on the street
without its floor without its door
but walls are still their retreat
Voiceless women live in this house
within these four walls
without its door, without its floor
quietly they wait for someone
would come and spread out
earth under their feet.
The tale they wanted to tell
that has become aged, stopped.
The tale is circling within circle
from ages and their voice is not heard
their eyes are lit like lamps
on their wrinkled faces – waiting
waiting and waiting someone will come.
Their story is being written in their wrinkles
they will bury their story with their bodies
or a straw would become a pen
or they would remain voiceless even in this age!
United We March!