Thursday 5 October 2017
Sailing Paper Boats: It is SHE
Sailing Paper Boats: It is SHE: It is She It Is She Who has broken the barriers And thrown her veil It is she who has denounced the pots and pans And op...
It is SHE
It is She
It Is She
Who has broken the barriers
And thrown her veil
It is she
who has denounced the pots and pans
And opened the windows and doors
It is she
Who has started to walk tall
She has found the placement of her
spine
But her voice ?
how did she find her voice ?
We had hidden it under countless
wraps
And buried it in deepest dungeons.
We had toiled over the eras
And stitched heavy veils through the
hours.
What a waste of all our sweat and strive
Now she knows the hidden lane
That leads her away from the grill and steam.
We had kept it a closely guarded
secret.
and she is standing ?
How did she learn to stand ?
we trained her to crawl and bow
to look down and lower her eyelids
No, we didn’t whisper the “spine”
word..
Not us
But here she is
She stands and meets our gaze
We didn’t realize how tall she was
She towers above us as she walks
She is full of ideas and speeches
We didn’t realize how eloquent she was.
She is comforting the child as she
writes
We didn’t realize how strong she was
Her discarded veil reveals her face
We didn’t realize how beautiful she
was.
It is She
She is here.
BY Swati Goswami
The Garden of life
By Swati Goswami
Childhood.
This garden is so bright and sunlit
Each flower seems to blossom completely
Exuding generous fragrances and hues.
With shy buds clinging in anticipation.
This garden is so cool and shady
With patches of sunshine on the ground
The trees whisper furtively to each other
Sharing incidents from eras gone by.
Bare feet dodge the lady birds
And skip over the ant hills.
They find easy knobs on the tree trunks
To help them climb nearer to the outgrowth.
The moist morning grass cools the heels
And sends fresh ideas to nomadic minds.
Carefree unbashful laughter rings around
As ruffled uncombed heads fall back in mirth.
Unattended scraped knees brave the races
While mellow voices confuse the Koyal
The soft breeze builds fruity appetites
and lets discolored hands feed the hungry mouths.
Aduthood
Each flower seems to blossom completely
Exuding generous fragrances and hues.
With shy buds clinging in anticipation.
This garden is so cool and shady
With patches of sunshine on the ground
The trees whisper furtively to each other
Sharing incidents from eras gone by.
Bare feet dodge the lady birds
And skip over the ant hills.
They find easy knobs on the tree trunks
To help them climb nearer to the outgrowth.
The moist morning grass cools the heels
And sends fresh ideas to nomadic minds.
Carefree unbashful laughter rings around
As ruffled uncombed heads fall back in mirth.
Unattended scraped knees brave the races
While mellow voices confuse the Koyal
The soft breeze builds fruity appetites
and lets discolored hands feed the hungry mouths.
Aduthood
As the sun sets
The air becomes staler and fragrances fade
The laughter gets controlled and conscious,
the shadows grow longer than the trees
Leaving less space to run around freely.
I should come back again in the morning
To feel the moist breeze against my face
And to aimlessly argue with the Koyal
From atop the old mangrove.
Maybe in the morning my feet
Will not tread on the struggling lady bird and
I will see the shy buds stretching out their arms
Filled with fragrant promises for me.
Evenings are dull and dreary in this garden
I should certainly come again in the morning.
The air becomes staler and fragrances fade
The laughter gets controlled and conscious,
the shadows grow longer than the trees
Leaving less space to run around freely.
I should come back again in the morning
To feel the moist breeze against my face
And to aimlessly argue with the Koyal
From atop the old mangrove.
Maybe in the morning my feet
Will not tread on the struggling lady bird and
I will see the shy buds stretching out their arms
Filled with fragrant promises for me.
Evenings are dull and dreary in this garden
I should certainly come again in the morning.
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