Febraury 9 2000 India
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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.
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