The Duet

"Website opening pic" by Atlantis7807 - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons - https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Website_opening_pic.JPG#/media/File:Website_opening_pic.JPG

A chance encounter, an old friend she sees,

Memories come and go with a breeze.

She turns away, shaking her head,

An unfulfilled promise, a vow, long unsaid.

Her thoughts turn to her children

She purses her lips, shaking her head again.

She couldn't dream of making them wait,

She rushes forward, she couldn't be late.

Someone calls out her name,

A voice that only fans the flame.

She could no longer contain her woe,

She runs back, she should've never let go.

Words spun into action as she sang,

With a thump, her feet would bang.

The 'ghungroo', the floor and her feet,

Everything else had taken a backseat.

The trio rallied on for long.

Until something disturbed her song.

A 'ghungroo' rolled loose and pierced her heel,

She winced as she began to kneel.

The knots had suddenly come undone.

For every time she had spun,

They went loose till they let her go,

Like she'd let them, ages ago.

About the post: This post features a woman and her passion for Kathak. I have touched upon it briefly in the next couple of lines. Very recently, while I was day dreaming, I heard a faint chime of 'ghungroo' from somewhere in the building. It went away as soon as it came but in my mind, I could still hear it and I couldn't let it go. From there sprung a story about a woman who gave up her friend, her 'ghungroo', her passion for dance as other things drew her attention. Years later, she finds her 'ghungroo' and that is what I have described in the poem.

Kathak is a classical dance form of India that often depicts stories or 'katha'. The prominent feature of this dance is the stomping of heels on the floor in a certain rhythm and tempo or to match it with instrumental music or only lyrics used for conveying a story or message, along with hand gestures (mudra) and facial expressions. It is performed wearing a set of 'ghungroo', as can be seen in the photo above. These 'ghungroos' jingle and produce a chime matching the force of one's feet and movements. Kathak and its instruments are incredibly complex to summarize in brief and hence, you should look it up if you want greater detail. As with any classical dance, it has a rich and vibrant history.

Why?

Customs, ours and theirs, why must we have identical prayers?

Women are above any precious thing, then why such shame to them you bring?

Your daughter is your honour, why then are her wishes swept in a corner?

She is your pride, why then must she hide?

Your life or mine, why must we live by another's design?

The bride was teary eyed, why couldn't they be by her side?

The home of God stood razed, what kind of monster had there grazed?

They burnt, they shot, will they ever be caught?

They preach of goodness, is that why in some way they repress?

They always measure your worth, is that why we happen to be on earth?

The patient was beyond repair, why couldn't they mend his tear?

A flood of memories, I ache, I wince, words flow easily ever since...

About the post: Well, this one is totally random, a bunch of lines, each pertaining to some prevalent issues of the day. The list of why(s) is not exhaustive, just some random thoughts.

A Woman of Substance

She eyed the canvas as she smiled,

Fame and fortune found their child.

She furiously dabbled in her art.

And so the squabbles did start.

She put them to rest,

Without a word, without a protest.

Years went by, what did she do?

Life had painted her black and blue.

A woman of substance, was she still?

Was life her captor or her will?

The steam from the hot water rose,

Was this the life that she once chose?

She watched the water go crimson,

Faintly, she heard the voice of reason.

The crimson hues stroked her fire,

Could she still escape the mire?

Her spirit rekindled,

Her fears soon dwindled.

The embers of hope did light,

When she walked out that night.

That night, the snow surely did melt,

For her fire, it must have felt.

She tread on, tenacious all the while,

Her journey sure did make her smile.

She mused over her theme,

Seasoning her palette and her dream.

She joined the soiree, she began to paint.

Long lost friends, a canvas sans restraint.

About the post: This poem can be interpreted in many ways. I personally feel that it represents a woman of substance, one who not only one who stands up for herself but who also stands tall even after she has taken a fall, it is about second chances. A woman of substance will keep trying to achieve her dream, whatever that may be and it is important for all women to really let themselves dream, be a little selfish-to be what she wants to be, to do what makes her happy. I wrote this for a women's poetry meet recently.