she

She crawls up her father

Now a little girl, her mother her first friend.

She is a school girl, she dances and paints

Pictures of her vision and steps of her imagination

She reads and grows up, she reads and writes

Pen and paper, exams and results, fear therefore

She is lass, times pass.

She is frightened. A little confused

Of what those feelings are

She turns to her first friend, she understands

She has new feelings now,

A little excited, a little hesitant

She turns to her second friend

She is a lover now.

She prays. She hopes. She loves.

She has a degree now.

Responsibility, maturity, diplomacy galore.

She looks at her father

hoping she could crawl up again

And be free of all the lies of World.

She is ready now. She is a wife now.

She wears a saree. Beautiful.

She embeds the earrings. Serene.

The red kum-kum, at its deserved place, Bliss.

She is a mother now.

A part of her now, moves, crawls, tumbles

In front of her. She feeds. She loves.

In the little soul she immerses herself.

And never emerges again as a whole.

A mother. She is. Perhaps, she was, for the whole time