Female Foeticide. The Perspective of a Lady Doctor by Arch Wordsmith

Female Foeticide. The Perspective of a Lady Doctor by Arch Wordsmith

Today, Arch Wordsmith has submitted a poem about rampant female foeticide in India. It is a problem of epic proportions and a lot has been written about it. But he has written from the perspective of a lady doctor, who indulges in this trade.

The butchering goddess by Arch Wordsmith

She stared at her womb,

Eyes greedy; gleaming,

A smile she offered,

Inside joyously screaming,

Gleefully motioned,

To the opposite chair,

The father apprehensive,

Mother in morbid fear,

She was now a master,

She read them well,

Mind wandering to greens,

Dreamt her fortunes swell,

He spoke in hushes,

She responded in affirmation,

Planned together,

A heinous operation,

She worked out a deal,

Like a vegetable vendor,

Smiled in hell, the Satan,

As her soul surrendered,

Reached they an agreement,

The doomsday was set,

Her thirst for the blood,

Drowned her regret.


Came the day of devil,

He brought her ready,

She handed reassurances,

Her demeanor steady,

The nurse prepped up the OT,

As she put on the gloves,

The angels began wailing,

In the skies above,

She walked in to butcher,

To feast on her sin,

As the nurse shut the chamber,

Cordoning of the din,

She peaked on adrenaline,

In that house of slaughter,

Cutting of the cord,

Of yet another daughter,

And when out she stepped,

Her hands were sparkling clean,

But clean weren’t those eyes,

Bloodied, remorselessly gleamed,

The father stood relieved,

His burden was disposed,

Handed over the niceties,

Like she had proposed,

And when she returned home,

Cuddled up her daughter,

She had forgotten the blood,

Forgotten the slaughter.


Not a tear of regret fell,

Not a hint of remorse,

As she slept content with self,

Her lust screaming for more.

Click to add a comment

I am a warrior. A warrior fighting for truth. Truth that has embraced me. Embrace that has relieved me of my past sins. Sins that mean nothing. Nothing is what they do. Do what has poisoned the air. Air that we breathe. Breath that they choke out of us. Us is the crowd of common Indian. INDIAN is what I am. I am a warrior.

More in Books

Creatives working at The Phoenix Artist

Independent venue launches hub for London’s creative community

Yareah MagazineJuly 19, 2016

Sunday Poetry with Jenean C. Gilstrap. A Midnight Clear in Kansas

Yareah MagazineJune 19, 2016
The Nantucket Book Festival

Book lovers. The Nantucket Book Festival features a stellar line-up of authors and events

Yareah MagazineMay 11, 2016
Ceramics by Sister Augustine

Author John Schlimm has won a Christopher Award for Five Years in Heaven

Yareah MagazineMay 5, 2016
Ken O'neill. Casino Woman in Red Throwing Dice

Sunday Poetry with Jenean C. Gilstrap. Today: burn baby burn

Jenean C GilstrapApril 24, 2016
Lions painted in the Chauvet Cave. This is a replica of the painting from the Brno museum Anthropos. The absence of the mane sometimes leads to these paintings being described as portraits of lionesses. Source: Wikipedia. Author: HTO - Own work (own photo)

Sunday Poetry with Gypsy Woman, Jenean C. Gilstrap. Today: Home

Jenean C GilstrapApril 17, 2016

Yareah Magazine

Art is Everywhere and Up to You.

About Us - Press Kit - Contact Us

YM on Twitter

Top Posts & Pages

Yareah® Magazine is a Registered Trademark in the United States