Jane’s return. ‘Do not struggle so,’ I have been told, and then felt Angered and afraid Of chains and of nets.Now I have returned to youof my own free will…
My long hair is the hood of womanhood
A waterfall of compliments and male validation, a crown
You see me in the street and know i am a girl
If i shaved my head would i be a strong woman
Or an unwoman
Red riding hood becomes the wolf
Little Delhi Girl
A little girl skipped into the road during a red light
No older than four
Bare feet pattering against dusty tarmac
What if it turns green?
What if the cars don’t see her?
Smiling, as vibrant as Delhi itself
Child of the city
The traffic her playground
One note her prize
Heart beat pumping aching shoulders into motion
Coarse fabric beneath tired hands
The wail of an infant ringing in her ears
She places a detergent capsule in the machine, shuts it and moves the knob to 40 degrees mixed load.
Unstring my wings.
Pretty little thing – doe eyes, gentle smile –
These things you call me and it’s sweet for a while,
Until they wrap up my wings in tangled twine,
Restrain me from nature and you think that it’s fine.
I have brittle bones and one word could break them into pieces for you to collect:
When this started, I could not expect
To be taken for a thing for you to call yours,
Take me from the moors and keep me indoors –
Babe, I just want to be free
And maybe that means that this isn’t meant to be.
Though tonight I won’t sleep a wink
For all this thinking, and overthinking,
I know it’s for the best.
You – you have put my heart to the test
And I am sick of making revisions
To fit into your future visions
Of a white picket fence life,
For I was not meant to be a wife,
Not really. I was meant to be a wild thing,
Running through forests, free to unstring
My wings and let them fly.