A son is born, the family rejoices
There are blood stains on the floor, but the blood ain’t fresh
It also does not belong to the boy or his mother
As the son grows, he crawls on the red marks, accepting them as a part of his life
When he grows up to be a man, he marks his own floor with blood of beautiful angels before he finally gets a son
My heart cries, not because I was once a girl child, but because I am human with a heart
Shilpa Roy Kota 
