to the Mother

of that Yet-Unmarried-Daughter:

when they smile their

pitiful smiles

and nod their

self-righteous nods

at family dinners

get-togethers

and weddings of friends'

i wish you could speak up.

speak up for her.

speak up for me.

speak up for daughters

that were

and daughters that will be.

tell them

that even though

she comes home at night

to an empty bed

her pillows are dry

as she goes to sleep

her mind at ease

and full of possibilities.

tell them

yes, this daughter of yours

has loved and lost

but she knows one fine day

she will have loved and won

someone

worthy of everything she’s got.

tell them

she loves herself enough

she needs no admiring eyes

to reflect her beauty and worth

nor comforting lies

to keep up appearances

and live facades by.

tell them

she doesn’t need a man

for security

she has her own mind and body

as an insurance policy.

tell them

she will age by her own clock

not society’s

and her right time

for marriage

will be any time

of day

of month

or year

tomorrow

today or even

in ten years.

tell them

her independence

won’t scare men,

atleast not the ones

that matter,

the ones

that will intrigue her.

tell them

that in fact

she is intrigued

by strong handsome men

that don’t fall on their knees

or tower over her

but stand at ease

by her side-

two ‘I’s

not one all-consuming ‘We’.

tell them

she is single and free right now

free to decide for herself, by herself

free to seize the day

free to go wherever she please

free to live vicariously

free to be whatever she wants to be.

and after all that’s said

tell them

this one other thing

that you are proud of all she’s become

and all that she is.

i was blowing bubbles
with a three year old

and every time a bubble burst
she squealed
in excitement
but i
could only force a smile.

we were all
in one boat
and wasn't the boat rocking!
with the constant hit
of life's tidal waves
with the twists and turns
of the navigating fates

our time-worn sail fought to keep us afloat
to stay on board
we had to reduce the load

so, we let go of some dreams
watched them drowning slowly
lost the egos
they were only weighing us down
fears, regrets, and wayward lovers
we gladly released
felt a little lighter
as they hit the abyss

at least for now
we floated on
ship-wrecked spirits
waiting to be found.

e-mails in inbox
unanswered

missed calls
maybe missed opportunities

said No to-
what do they call it?
oh yes, "lucrative offers"

in the hope of holding on
to bits and pieces
of vague and confused dreams

mad
unambitious
lazy

what's in an adjective, anyway?

and Time,
Time is relative
didn't he say?

so
i will be
mistress of my clock
my journey will go on
but
I resign
from the race.

what is this nomadic existence?
going, always going
somewhere, anywhere
chasing, always chasing
some dream, some goal
running, always running
from some memory, some truth
searching, always searching
for some place, some heart

what a journey this life is.

why is it that
it is often
my worst fears
that come true

but never
my best dreams?

grains of sand
in infinite amounts-
a giant-sized hourglass
uninhabited
as far as the eyes can see
footprint-less sandy-vastness
where old paths are erased
by ceaseless dry winds
that take you nowhere
deceptive mirages
appearing in front of naive eyes
oppressive days of heat
leading into numbing cold nights
of star-lit skies
an uninterrupted view
but directionless
lost in a desert, they
walk endless miles and miles
looking for a sign
of some kind
of life.

paralyzed waist below
stuck inside
a golden brown tropical hole
i rise
i rise
only to be sucked
back in
to be proven
again
and again-

quicksand
is impossible to escape
by yourself.

you are
something
i tried on

like a dress
i fancied at first glance
but chucked away
because
it didn't fit at just the right places.