You saw her striding through her life
by Famida Basheer
shaking off the relics of her own penury of purpose;
Her eyes seeking without knowing.
You watched as she hastily dried the rain
before it could soak through her soul
and the visions that she had for her morrows
and you heard the sorrows within her whisper
that age cannot and should not wither
nor custom stale what the bard had promised
as he stroked his balding words
and cursed his leaking pen for spilling
on her intent.
And you saw her weep in silence
when she should have been laughing,
and you knew it was because
she could tell the difference.
And you watched her laugh when no laugh was due
yet you were content that she could.
And you hailed her and she would not come.
And you tried to reach out to hold her hand
without really knowing what she craved.
And you saw her fleeting by
and you wondered if you should laugh or cry...
Yes that was I.