Tina Sequeira is an Indian author, poet and marketer. Winner of the Rashtriya
Gaurav Award in association with the Government of Telangana for ‘Author of the
Year’ (2019), the Orange Flower Award (2017) by Women’s Web, the Literoma Nari
Samman Award (2020), and GrandQueens Leadership Award (2020) by Lions Club
International, Tina has published over twenty short stories and poems in
anthologies and literary journals since 2017. Tina is the author of two
books–both fiction and non-fiction. Soul Sojourn, a melange of real-life
stories, experiences, and learnings, tops the ‘Best Ebooks Ever 2017’ on
Goodreads. Bhumi (2019), a collection of sixteen stories of the contemporary
Indian woman, fetched her awards and ‘by invite’ an Amazon Prime Reading deal. She
is also the founder of ‘Write Away’, where she mentors her students on the subtle
nuances of creative writing. Find her at
www.thetinaedit.com and @thetinaedit.
Lying on the floor
Wounded, naked and numb
You called me
And a cunt
Asked me to play by your rules
Or fuck back off to where I came from.
Close on the heels of the chase
You smirk, “Too easy a prey!”
Go ahead, my dear
Deem me a slut,
Shame me as much as you want
My choices and associations
Are none of your desire.
My life—I own it
Write it and live it.
Does my direct gaze dent your pride?
Does my loud voice rattle your core?
“Too opinionated!”, you cry.
I’d rather be a bitch
And stir a revolution
Than keep my gaze,
My tone down
Coz’ down is where doormats belong
Not me, not any of my sisters.
Don’t you dare brandish me a whore,
Nip me in the bud
Dim my shine
Or force me to cater to your calling.
For like a rose that blooms,
My curves will freely roam
And sway rapturously in the air
To the heart’s fullest desire.
My cunt’s not a curse
To thwart its life inside the cocooned womb
My cunt’s not the cross
To exorcise me
Out of my maternal and marital home
My cunt’s a fountain of hope for humankind
Let it flow naturally
Breaking glasses, ceilings, and ill-fate.
I’m all of this
And so much more
A Pisachini aroused
From the sacred Puja ashes.
The future isn’t scary!
Are you—in lockdown—too?
Then that’ll make the two of us!
Shush! They’ll pimp us to war!
The future is not scary—
We are—the virus—
Where are you, Mother?
Your milky mounds—
Fiery brazen cores—
Where are you, Father?
Your gentle rod—
In death, I fly—
Lead me to the Light—
Ah, the Sky—the Winds—
May I spread my wings—Today –
And we embrace as One!