After preparing a feast
satisfying the entire family,
like a highly skilled housewife
satisfying herself
she licks the empty cauldron and pan
or swallows the slightly burnt leavings.
And then hungry and weepy-eyed
this rainy night falls asleep.
Not without fulfilling you in your bed room.
She’s been spending her days licking the salty grit
on the empty pan provided by legislation.
No justice has come to ask—"Have you eaten?"
It’s not just this century-long night
she has slept without food.
There were many nights like that.
Today too there’s a feast at her house
tell them: In her name
don’t put out the rice the meal requires
she doesn’t need feasts like these
for amid great feasts, she already has
the habit of fasting herself to sleep
fire rages on the riverbank.
With a flood of water
she has blanketed that terrible inferno of hunger.
She has doused the blaze sufficiently
with the unfathomable depths
of a single desperation.