By Nandini Dawar
I turn to one side and then the other
feverishly looking for that sweet girl of mine.
I spot her at a distance
cheerily picking out the last of the pickets.
I extend my hand to reach out to her
but off she goes before I take a single step
for after all, she had a fence to burn.
I run
No, I’m almost certain I fly
with the new-found buoyancy
I now notice in my step.
I stop just short of her though and stand by
quietly witnessing what she does next.
Each picket she’d carried, she lay down
one by one, in a near perfect array.
And there, right before my eyes
the mound of pickets that was once a fence
lay ablaze with flames so intense they lit up the sky
as though the sun itself had descended upon us.
All at once, I felt this shiver of fear
run down my spine.
The realization had dawned
that with that fence gone
I had no place left to hide.
I was visible.
I had been seen and
I would continue to be seen
in all my nakedness
with all my light
and even more so with my dark.
They’d see me curled up like a ball
and see me unfurled like a flag.
They’d see the holes in the fabric of me
as also the tattered edges of me.
They’d see the fading colours of me
and the ever-deepening stains of time on me.
They’d see me fly
and then they’d see me crash
They’d know I’m human and so very raw
for with no facade to cover me up
to my utter dismay
I was in full display.
The me that I’d been hiding from
was out in the open today.
I am pushed to look at my own reflection.
Who am I really when I am not (feigning) perfection?
I’m anger.
I’m sadness.
I’m laughter.
I’m grief.
I’m beauty, but I’m not.
I’m bold, and I’m meek.
I rise, and later ebb.
I float, and I sink.
I come up yet again.
I gasp, and I choke.
I cry, and then I joke.
I fear much yes, it is this way –
I fear and I run
I fear and I hide
I fear and I fawn
I fear and I fight
I fear and I freeze
I fear much and yet, I often stay.
I felt it all so deep that I'd set up a shield
and yet here I was, now learning to yield
to reach out and to share
to be true and to dare
to sizzle and to fade
yet offer my shade
to squirm and to shake
to quiver and to quake.
to not repress and let out the groan
for I was here now but could soon be gone.
I’m a mother and I’m a child
I was tamed, yet I’m wild.
Now I open, and I seek
and I slowly start to speak.
For my voice is not mine, not just mine alone
My pain is not mine, not just mine alone
My pride too is not mine, not just mine alone.
I carry the sounds of those who came before me
some spoken, some unsaid.
Sounds that traveled far and long
in their quest to be heard.
Knowing this I cannot but write
for it’s about more than just me.
They tell me my art will set not just them
but several others free.