Tag Archives: hope

WHAT I DREAM ABOUT

Ask me what I dream about
And I’ll tell you what keeps me awake at night.
My mind wanders not in the land of victory or joy;
Rather, it ponders over the calamities
That befall life everyday.
I dream a bittersweet dream
Of a mature nation:
Prosperous, advanced and developed.

You say our world has evolved;
That the barbarism of slavery, injustice,
Inequality and cages are fading out
Like the setting sun
As the cool blue light of the moon
Washes over us all.
But you don’t understand that
The eclipsed lune still confines us in darkness.

Because although today these atrocities
Do not publicly define themselves,
We have not won.

I dream of a country where women are free,
Where the shackles of illiteracy do not
Bind us from knowing our rights.
As the world grows, I wish for it to encompass
And make room for our love, our spirit, our passion.
I dream of a father in rural India being proud of
His baby girl. Instead, I see a simpleton
Refusing to touch his child and crying over his ill fortune
As his withered wife, frail and exhausted,
Mentally prepares herself for her fifth pregnancy.

I dream of rejoicing faces
Dancing and celebrating sacred marriages
Without the sword of dowry
Looming menacingly over their heads
The bride-to-be is unaware of the beatings
She might have to endure for evermore
As her parents sell her for her worth.
I see a woman helplessly weep as
Society subjects her to body shaming realities:
Ugly, Fat, Whore, Slut, Bitch.
I see her face crumple as thread by thread
Her dignity slowly unravels.
I dream to see girls wear dresses and skirts
Without becoming a blinking neon light
That reads “Rape Me”.

I aspire to be the wheel of change where
A woman is the bread winner of her family
Where you see the line of toil and perseverance
Etched on the palm of her hand
Not that which forms her cleavage.
We might not sacrifice our women on
The Sati pyre anymore
But we still burn her eminence at the stake,
We watch her crumble to nothing but ashes.

I dream that we ourselves believe
We are capable, strong, beautiful,
That we deserve more.
We have apologized for being ourselves
For decades. We suffer because
We have accepted this base society.
Not anymore.

Most of all, I dream of an India
Where “Women Empowerment” no longer holds meaning,
As men and women cut the fruit of life
Into equal halves.
Ask me what I dream about
And I’ll tell you what inspires me
To rise from slumber.

MOLDING

image

The potter took his last pot
Home to his special boy
Whose limbs had lost their function
But the lack of sinew and muscle
Was made up for by his clear wit
And heart full of love.
The boy did not smile when he saw
His new gift.
You got this one home
Because nobody wanted it, it wasn’t
Worth the fare.
The potter sat him down and told him, in words that would echo in his ears for the rest of his life, words that made him the man he was today:
I got this home because it was
Unlike the rest. The grooves and bends
That form its delicate body
Make it smoother to hold and far
More valuable. It does have a weak spot,
I admit, but the extra clay at the very
Base strengthen it, and make it
Indestructible. I could have got
You another pot, the identical ones I
Mold on a daily basis, but nobody
Really wants those, do they? Unique
Pieces- ones that set the tone for a new
Trend, the ones that do not carry
The characteristics which are commonplace- those are the ones that
Are most coveted. It takes rare moments to craft those beautiful unique pots,
And when they’re finished, the ones that didn’t turn out like the others are the ones that carry royal prestige, much like a Monet or Picasso.
What you do with this pot, is for you to decide. You can decorate it or you can fret over small differences in its texture,
It might not stand steady by itself,
But a little water and soil can make it
A base for flowers to nourish and flourish. You get to choose.
He placed his hand on his son’s head,
Gave him a kiss on the forehead
And as he stood up to leave, he smiled
To see his son reach out for the
Paint and brushes.