Skip to main content

The women I know

 

Silhouette of a woman raising her foot against the sun. Photo by EYÜP BELEN
Image by EYÜP BELEN on Pexels; written by Meghna Majumdar


One who misses her mountains,
One whose new love is the sea,
One flirting with solitude,
One building her home of three


One protecting her own freedom,
One moulding many futures,
One who helps so many, while
Her own scars await sutures


One resting in hard-won victory,
One whose battles just won’t end,
One living in silver linings,
One wondering where the music went


One who’s charting new ambitions
One rekindling a love from before,
One I long failed to realise
Is not a little girl anymore.


Every single one of them,
A poem on her own.


Comments

Most Read

The Table

Image by derich on Freepik ;  written by Meghna Majumdar Scratched. Stained. Crooked. If you put too much weight on it, it groans. If you stuff some newspaper under one leg, though, at least it stops rocking. It’s everyone’s favourite table. She sprinkles the day's first drops of gangajal on it. Three generations of feasts, fights and family meetings have earned it that right. She sits there, right after daybreak, remembering everyone who’s sat there before. She asks for all their blessings, remembers all their love. Her favourite table. They set the baby down on it sometimes, to crawl about, safely surrounded by adoring faces. One day, she crawled right up to her cooing mother, grabbed her nose and squealed, “Ma!” Her favourite table. He sits by it in the dead of most nights, away from the chatter and the questions. He moves the newspaper away, so it rocks quite nicely. He lays his head on it and lets it sway him, to and fro, to and fro. No nags about his meals, no scrutiny of car...