DUSTY GALE
The river reed bends in a grace that only the wind knows of,
To palms, and other lofty trees the reed is a vision to scoff,
But the gust knows of its supple mind that takes its gush,
The reed needs no validation of its strength, she’s in no big rush.
Bending is not submission but she wouldn’t stoop,
She cannot be that banal or the hackneyed in the group,
I try to be the river reed and know that I’m the richer,
I’ve stretched my torso to an extent when the dominant is the preying vulture,
Feeding on my gentleness mistaken for a weakness,
What does fragrance know of the thorn that injects a rose’s redness?
For both the reed and I know of tyrant scavengers,
Yet our spirits soar as we stand rooted for our soul’s adventures.
Fool not yourself misunderstanding a woman’s delicate heart,
Her resilience, grit, resolve she has mastered from the start,
Beneath her vulnerability she sniggers at a bullying male,
For she knows like that reed of noisy storms that end up in a meek dusty gale.
NIPPED YET BLOSSOMING
Every now and then she would gaze at her gold medal,
Fighting her tears, she would bite her lips and clumsily fiddle,
All her hard work simmering on vegetable stew, this life such a riddle,
As she eked her time in drudgery, a small town, pushing time’s pedal!
Cities didn’t hold any more charm for her now,
Her frayed jeans faded with her memory somehow,
The sun shone, she didn’t make hay, but she pruned the main root,
This bonsai guava tree would sell at a fancy price and that’s a loot.
Elegantly presented through the day she was the charm of the family,
Not a fold out of place and in her poise no traces of an anomaly,
Except that her heart held deep creases only she tried to iron out,
That she was a warrior within she had never a doubt,
Sacrifices come in so many different ways,
Dousing one’s dreams and ambitions mostly never pays,
Nor did her gold medal that she earned at the university,
Marriage happened in her stars only for her it wasn’t serendipity,
There was everything she could ever dream to possess,
Yet her chest carried a boulder causing her inexpressible distress,
Slowly lines appeared on her mirror and her forehead too,
Oh, what was this lacuna they loved each other true.
She was caught in a time frame when tying the knot was inevitable,
Her talents taken for granted her stance now irreversible,
What the heck, the scissors gawked at her nonchalantly,
Ikebana and bonsai bloomed where she was planted, ironically!
So many such women out there have drowned their life’s dreams,
Some choices are made and some pushed down the throat in muffled screams,
Some run the race and leap and bound,
Some have wings all tied up and stay perched where they’re found.
CRESCENT
Tears are never answers to suffering, nor are prayers,
When words lash at your womanhood,
When hands strike the cheek they once caressed,
And you’re left wondering which stranger you’re with when you are awake,
The pain of indignity hurts more than the thrashing,
“Abused” is no more a word for a numbness eclipses it,
The kids dare not know what goes on behind that door,
But the marks of tyranny speak for themselves,
The stench of inebriated breath floats like masculinity,
Thank God for make up, scarves and stoles,
And when water finds its level, she lifts the earth single-handedly,
Her shoulders become icy mountains,
Her feet become the hands of time she rules,
The sky and beyond is no limit,
She sports the wings of freedom and walks out of that door soaring to liberation,
Living for herself as a smile adorns her ravaged face,
So much like the moon with its pits and craters, yet smiling in a crescent.
Geethanjali Dilip is a published poet with four co-authored anthologies “Between Moms and Sons I and II”, “The Virtual Reality “, “Plant Poetry” to her credit in collaboration with several prolific and talented poets and a recipient of “The Reuel International Award for Poetry’ as well as an awardee in the category of commendable mention for her poem at “The Great Indian Poetry Contest”. She has curated “Plant Poetry Festival “at Yercaud in July 2018. She heads Zone Francofone at Salem, Tamil Nadu where she teaches French.
The river reed bends in a grace that only the wind knows of,
To palms, and other lofty trees the reed is a vision to scoff,
But the gust knows of its supple mind that takes its gush,
The reed needs no validation of its strength, she’s in no big rush.
Bending is not submission but she wouldn’t stoop,
She cannot be that banal or the hackneyed in the group,
I try to be the river reed and know that I’m the richer,
I’ve stretched my torso to an extent when the dominant is the preying vulture,
Feeding on my gentleness mistaken for a weakness,
What does fragrance know of the thorn that injects a rose’s redness?
For both the reed and I know of tyrant scavengers,
Yet our spirits soar as we stand rooted for our soul’s adventures.
Fool not yourself misunderstanding a woman’s delicate heart,
Her resilience, grit, resolve she has mastered from the start,
Beneath her vulnerability she sniggers at a bullying male,
For she knows like that reed of noisy storms that end up in a meek dusty gale.
NIPPED YET BLOSSOMING
Every now and then she would gaze at her gold medal,
Fighting her tears, she would bite her lips and clumsily fiddle,
All her hard work simmering on vegetable stew, this life such a riddle,
As she eked her time in drudgery, a small town, pushing time’s pedal!
Cities didn’t hold any more charm for her now,
Her frayed jeans faded with her memory somehow,
The sun shone, she didn’t make hay, but she pruned the main root,
This bonsai guava tree would sell at a fancy price and that’s a loot.
Elegantly presented through the day she was the charm of the family,
Not a fold out of place and in her poise no traces of an anomaly,
Except that her heart held deep creases only she tried to iron out,
That she was a warrior within she had never a doubt,
Sacrifices come in so many different ways,
Dousing one’s dreams and ambitions mostly never pays,
Nor did her gold medal that she earned at the university,
Marriage happened in her stars only for her it wasn’t serendipity,
There was everything she could ever dream to possess,
Yet her chest carried a boulder causing her inexpressible distress,
Slowly lines appeared on her mirror and her forehead too,
Oh, what was this lacuna they loved each other true.
She was caught in a time frame when tying the knot was inevitable,
Her talents taken for granted her stance now irreversible,
What the heck, the scissors gawked at her nonchalantly,
Ikebana and bonsai bloomed where she was planted, ironically!
So many such women out there have drowned their life’s dreams,
Some choices are made and some pushed down the throat in muffled screams,
Some run the race and leap and bound,
Some have wings all tied up and stay perched where they’re found.
CRESCENT
Tears are never answers to suffering, nor are prayers,
When words lash at your womanhood,
When hands strike the cheek they once caressed,
And you’re left wondering which stranger you’re with when you are awake,
The pain of indignity hurts more than the thrashing,
“Abused” is no more a word for a numbness eclipses it,
The kids dare not know what goes on behind that door,
But the marks of tyranny speak for themselves,
The stench of inebriated breath floats like masculinity,
Thank God for make up, scarves and stoles,
And when water finds its level, she lifts the earth single-handedly,
Her shoulders become icy mountains,
Her feet become the hands of time she rules,
The sky and beyond is no limit,
She sports the wings of freedom and walks out of that door soaring to liberation,
Living for herself as a smile adorns her ravaged face,
So much like the moon with its pits and craters, yet smiling in a crescent.
Geethanjali Dilip is a published poet with four co-authored anthologies “Between Moms and Sons I and II”, “The Virtual Reality “, “Plant Poetry” to her credit in collaboration with several prolific and talented poets and a recipient of “The Reuel International Award for Poetry’ as well as an awardee in the category of commendable mention for her poem at “The Great Indian Poetry Contest”. She has curated “Plant Poetry Festival “at Yercaud in July 2018. She heads Zone Francofone at Salem, Tamil Nadu where she teaches French.
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