The Poetesses

There are no poets here.
Just poetesses.
One for each year;
hundreds of poetesses
with the weight of a
hundred years
falling on feeble shoulders.

Cumulative burden,
it is too much to hold.
But there is energy
in the walls. They
have been touched by thousand
hands,
have absorbed a million thoughts.

These walls are what
we write our poems on.
Scratching the red brick,
carving the words.
Then taking the red dust
and smearing it
on our foreheads.

There are no poets here.
Just poetesses.
Marked for life.

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