That first dotted stain on my baby pink shorts;
Forever in my memory and my thoughts.
I ran to the loo while tears in my eyes;
I saw myself bleeding and there my throat dies.
Mum wasn’t home, I was so alone;
Brother in the other room but I was fear prone.
I sat on the floor tiles as I watched it going red;
Terrified and scared, I thought I will be dead.
I couldn’t come out, I closed myself in;
As my brother called out, my heart pounded within.
I felt a little pain under my stomach little low;
I started feeling drowsy, as my blood kept it’s flow.
I prayed to God, “Please bring my mother back;
I can’t bear it anymore, my body feels a crack.”
As sound beeped soon, there she came,
I opened the door and started to blame.
She held my hand and caressed my hair;
I was so puzzled as I glared at her.
It happens to all, she said it was fine;
I sighed with relief as I sat for my dine.
Twenty years from now, I still laugh at this;
Menstruation is not a taboo, it is a bliss.
Reproduced with permission from Parisha Writes.
Parisha Dutta is a rising writer, poet and blogger. She is of Bengali origin and currently resides in Guwahati, Assam, India. She would like to pursue a literary career as a poet and a writer. Her aim is to become a passionate writer and presently she is trying and working on lyrics and sonets.