A STRANGE DREAM

A strange dream it was;
a strange congregation they were,
a group of people heading for the north
and I among them :
a barefoot, barebreasted mother,
an infant suckling at my breast.
They never stared at my nakedness,
since the rigours of the journey and the challenges
 had cleansed them all.

And just as we were nearing the goal
and bracing ourselves
for the last test of endurance,
I heard,
 you,heading for south, had camped for awhile
on the other side of the road.

Barefoot and barebreasted though I was,
I rushed across.
You were not alone; you were isolated.
They, the barbarians were haranguing you
for your heresies
and pronouncing death as I entered your camp.
But before I could comprehend,
their eyes fell on me :
I standing at their door,
barefoot without a cover on my breasts,
frantic to reach out to you.
It was not a sight that lured them;
it was another proof of your sacrilege.
I saw their meaning as they glowered at me viciously.

I stood stunned, suddenly conscious of my bare breasts and empty hands,
and my alienness above all.
I could neither cross over nor turn back.
At that moment I suddenly knew the meaning of the body as shame;
a body, my body, suddenly seen from an alien eye:
it turned into a mass of unenhanced physicality.

The meeting of our eyes in that moment of trauma
was more than what they could understand
in their reproachful piety.
Before they could reach me in my vulnerability
you moved forward and threw a shawl of yours,
and in a split moment wrapped me around and retreated to their side quietly