Everyday as my Bus passes through the infamous street of Budwhar Peth, I spot this one lady who is constantly lost in her reverie. I could’t help putting together a fictitious account of her life and imagination in poetry. The poem is called Her Lacuna which means her void because there is a longing for a change somewhere. And a long wait for someone or something who can take her away from her suffering……forgetting that she and only she can put an end to this!!
Her Lacuna!
Somewhat fidgeting, somewhat fighting herself
She stands there with her grease laden pudgy face
Searching internally but failing to connect with her outer self
Manequined in a Saree that is scandalously draped
Her low neck blouse revealing her bedizen feminity to its behest
A dash of the Color Crimson dabbed across her pouty lips
In a weakly lubricious pose but with an artificial grin
Trying to be strong when fingers are pointed and distances are kept
She thinks perhaps while standing here for hours
Before the long wait is over
Why not unlive the lived moments of her glamorous life
Beading together each memory as it runs riot
Dreams new and old everywhere- aren’t they best left unseen
For before you blink-
They fork sweet innocence into endless profanity
Beyond which, life seems a lot less complicated
They come and go
Many times they pay, sometimes they borrow
She obdurately faces it all
Without displaying even the slightest sign of supplication
Personally she may not approve
But there is always an inherent obligation
Her thoughts are refracted by a nascent hesitance
Though it dies a sudden death, once the lights are switched off
She makes them feel like they are her kings
However bilious, violent and vituperative-
She accepts it all as if-
They are the moiety of her own copious sins
Her nebulous faith drifts apart with her imagination
And finally succumbs to the pain of the reality
Her clean past mocks at her sullied present
As she braces herself for a chaste future
Its evening time now
The ambience in the bazaar is foisting a chaos
She looks in the mirror, her mind steers clear of escapist thoughts
She stares at the “New one” as they call her
Trying diligently to attract their attention
She looks at her old fat body and swarthy skin
Gulping down depression she continues to stand there
Accepting her fate and waiting for them to arrive
Ironically to put an end to her own self-inflicted despair………………….
.........by me
