Pushing Daisies

Pitch black halo surrounds the city,

A little light, ah! shed it tonight;

Corpses wake up each morning

And drowning are pretty

Angels in fright.


Silent smiles, fake too sometimes,

Encircle our bodies, alight;

Isn’t it better for the evil,

As said, is encouraged by words

Ain’t I right?



Can’t we see butterflies cheering

People in the daylight?

Or for that sort, happiness that

Doesn’t have to be justified?


Yet we find, hearts chattering,

The mind – forever deprived,

That’s the rub, we shouldn’t

Pat it all like it’s right;

Nor use force against it,

Explain your ground, you might.




In some days, weeks if the former doesn’t happen;
We’ll not know each other the way we do.
Either we’ll know way more than now,
Or so much more that there won’t be anything left.

Boredom will creep in,
Ah, it always does,
The beauty we held,
Will surely start to rust.

Back to the normal way of life we must,
Live again, bearing regret and disgust.
A week later another person we’ll meet,
Prepare our angels, with smiles we greet,
The cycle begins and it goes on;
Until boredom starts to ruin it all.

But tell me if this is enough a pattern for life?
Aren’t we weaving too much with very little yarn;
Earlier it took- hard work and dime;
Now rather easier- the loom and time,
Minutes speak what hours,
Days and years would’ve.

Time goes on, new faces seen,
The older ones vanish, had they ever been?


I am a woman.
I have to bite my cheek from the inside to bear that thread chopping of unwanted hair off my face.
I have to close my eyes and am asked to pray god when that hot wax departed that body hair off.
I had to cry when my periods annoyed me way too much that I had to deal with backache after cleaning the stains.
I have had to weep inside when a guy had used me to his fullest and now was in a place of complete rest.
I have to walk around with pepper sprays because some men were surely disgrace.
I have to travel the world before nine because after that world for us isn’t fine.
I have to ensure I take another to a trip because a lonely woman isn’t safe, fulfilled.
I have to cook my family food because without my expertise they tend to starve.
I have to submerge my dreams in the stream and quietly break to every remembrance of it.
I have to earn less, sometimes not even earn to be the housewife as sufficed.

I am a woman.
The so called weaker sex.
The homemaker.
The perfect housewife.
A worthy cook.
A maid.
A disaster always hidden.
A hurricane of hobbies never cauterized.
A dream buried.
Potential unrecognized.
A dancer hidden behind the veil.
A teacher taught to obey always.
An individual burnt completely.

A name, followed by another, my husband’s and until marriage, my father’s.

I am everything one wanted me to be. Apart from me myself.

~ V. Madhuri lalwani

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