Draupadi now

  

Anguish burning behind skins

like flames behind colours of

see-through stone. Burning love,

exploding sparks of bush fires in

forlorn grasslands. Proud edifices of travertine

laid to desolate waste, utter ruin,

stripped to nakedness, still

dignified, untouched, tranquil.

They can set the spark

to burn my anguish, work

at trafficking every body part

fine tune rape into a performing art

strip me of every love, and each caress

they will not be able to undress

either my bodies or my souls. 

I spin my own yards of fabric rolls -

sheer, translucent pleasure, and thick pile wool

blankets of independence, shaded tulle

in colours both frivolous and grave

hopeful and despairing, timid and brave.

Every thread a fine point weapon.

They can’t have me bared, or broken.

Rage burning in leaping tongues

of a saffron flameball.  Like the young

sun shrugs off the restraining horizon,

somersaults into a wide blue freedom.

The slow burning of trust

quietly guarded small flames suddenly crushed

between callous fingers, wicks nipped

stand wisping smoke, still red tipped.

They can use their fingers, steel-cold, cruel

to nip my wicks, siphon away every fuel

that I have for happiness, pinch

off every source of joy, lay bare every inch

of flesh and bone, claw and snatch

at every covering. Still I’ll detach

from their grasp, no hand hold,

no firm grip on my bodies or souls.

I spin my own endless fabrics

in colours of alabaster and marble, jade and onyx.

In textures of silk and steel, of resolve and grief,

weaves of milky mercy, intricate loving motifs.

I spin my own immeasurable veil

the borders dark, the rest shimmering pale,

confident and free, the way it drapes

around my core and around its outer shapes.

I don’t wait for saviours, I call upon no prophets.

I am clothed in my own humanity, I cannot be stripped.

Draupadi is a character in the Indian epic Mahabharata, her husbands' enemies' attempt to publicly disrobe her is foiled by Krishna who answers her call for help. He makes her garment endless, and her attacker tires of trying to pull it off her.  This event is one of the triggers leading into the climax of the Kurukshetra war.