Monday, February 9, 2009


I always told you
I couldn't run to you
in high-heels and the pinksaree
you never saw me in.
They gave me the crown that day
and though I made up a speech
in my head, they wouldn't let
me hear the echoes of my own words
on the microphone
resounding in the refectory.

I always told you
I wasn't old enough to be a Lady.
I still cannot suppress
littlegirlgiggles, and I
think of fairytales and
frogprinces and couldhavebeens.

I peel bluemoons off
the purplepurple skies.
Catching falling stars and
pasting them in the walls
of my room.
I still haven't learned to
cry like a Lady, in a
controlled, respectable manner.
I am told that Ladies wait
for the bluenights
when their pillows hear their secrets
and the skies lick up their sepia tears,
turning them into
sunshine on misty mornings.

I cannot behave like a Lady, maybe.
Yes, maybe you're right.

I let the idiotwind ruffle my hair
I'm not tired of the wind,
the wildwild wind.
And, unlike Ladies,
I do not carry a hairbrush or
even a tiny jar of
strawberry lipgel to try
to look pretty.
Or, do they call it lipgloss?

I still run around in circles,
waiting to be gobble up
my confusion.
And, like littlegirls, I
love tears and their taste
that lingers even after you've
kissed them away.

I have often let my
dreams get entangled
in the morass of reality.
I don't know the difference,
you tell me,
between dreams and reality.
I'm not a Lady yet.

You will put your life in jeopardy.
This is a quagmire. It'll suck you in.

You tell me,
I have not learned to
make love like a Lady.
I cannot hide the
fragrance of my careless kisses
in my smile.
The glittery mischief in my eyes
says it all.
The littlegirlmischief,
it stares right into your soul.

I shouldn't take pictures
of random places,
and strangers
penning down verses for them
in my mind,
and losing them abruptly
to nothingness.
Ladies don't do that.

Ladies don't look back
after they've said goodbye.

But I introspect.

Maybe someday I'll be a Lady.
Not today.
Someday. When I'm ready.

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