Poetry · 05 / 06 · Edition 02

Dirt beneath her feet

a poem on the clay, the goddess and the women behind the door

By Rishavi Banerjee · Oct 2026 · 1 min read

Clay was gathered from the abandoned streets
Doorsteps filled with shameful allegations ,
Hands that would never hold them in prayer,
Is moulding a goddess from the dust lying there.

It was called divine ,
Made the goddess shine ,
But woman behind that Door ,
What was she, if not malign .
The dhak beats louder
HER eye echoes power
Yet today's women stay in Cower
What is that makes one divine
While another is condemned by society's line
We call the soil sacred when it carries your name
But the women who gave it we see them as shame .
For no women is dirt, no women shame
No woman deserves to be blamed for her faith
And if this Clay is known as sacred then let this be known as ,
The mother we worship you through
Must not be left alone.