The Grendels

Horror is lurking behind every moment of darkness,

Seeming to be human, we cannot distinguish you from Grendel.

We see no Beowulfs coming to rip off your arms that aid you well.

When every closed door warns us,

Every stare seems to map our bodies,

Every vehicle appears to follow us,

Every touch seems to warn us,

You, cultured and well behaved,

You are the light of the day,

You are the Lord of the people,

Who metamorphose into damned dangers 

At the end of the day.

Your venomous fangs go in search of 

Prey,

You wait in the darkness with twinkling eyes,

Admiring the power of your hands,

That can open up hearts,

And show the uncultured your worth. 

After every hunting, the sycophants who surround you,

Kiss your hands and touch your feet.

They wash your dirt and make your bed.

They cure your sickness by gifting you scepters.

Making you invisible, they uproot every Beowulfs to ensure your reign.

Thus you flourish, never to die but to hunt and haunt.

And behind your house, we see a pile of dirt, 

Fresh and wet, making a scarlet mansion,

to inspire and nurture baby Grendels,

To make us disappear.

A.C

Yesterday, October 1 was National Poetry Day. I wrote this poem specifically because every news on violence against us builds up a lot of trauma in us. And we disappear at every injustice towards us. I don't know how powerful this poem is, but this is my way of protest against the brutal Hathras gang rape of a 19-year-old girl and the injustice done to her family even after her death.

Grendel is a character in the Anglo-Saxon epic poem Beowulf. Grendel is described as "a creature of darkness, exiled from happiness and accursed of God, the destroyer and devourer of our humankind". Beowulf tears off Grendel's arm, which eventually kills him.