It's been long after I penned down this poem. With the passing of time, I only realize that every word of hope has a life promised unto eternity and every thought I gave form to in the past, still remains so contemporaneous in any setting, real, unchanging and re-emerging in one way or the other. I'm reminded of what Dutta Ma'm reiterated several times during her lectures at DSE - contexts are like ghosts, they disappear, they are deceptive, but they don't die out completely, they continue to haunt like ghosts relentlessly.
Yes, even if transformed and empowered, I know the erstwhile position can always be resurrected. Sad, demeaning and utterly disgraceful. Contextualizing the tagline of my blog, this poem conveys a deep sense of despair and yet, hopes for hope...on this day again...the March 8th, International Women's Day...
Only for a piece of an apple
She longed all her life
Merely for a glint of freedom.
She does bear it still
With no thought to grapple
She endured awful strife
Relinquishing her queendom.
She does whisper a scream
As she did down the lane
Since yester ages, longing for –
The Freedom To Be Different.
She does renew her hope,
To unveil her concealed stance,
The freedom to be her own self –
A facsimile of virtues.
Yes, of virtues – free and uniquely hers,
For display even before sunrise,
To stay on beyond the horizon,
Securing and reassuring,
Her only hope to dream,
Of the longpending quest,
Of every Woman after Eve,
Every moment since the fall,
– For A Freedom beyond horizon.
