FOR THE LITTLE GIRL IN AN OLD SAREE

You too had a past, did you !

You old woman in that Bengali saree

I only saw the gray streaks and the big

outdated bindhi,

Not the girl who ate chalk and sneezed

Drawing giant mutant butterflies on the walls

With tiny hands , dust underneath the tender nails.

I saw none of that, not the love for chocolates,

Nor the pretty green frock, nor the little plastic rattle,

Yet there you are, caught on a piece of withering paper,

Off guard, much like time itself,

And to know all that I’ve missed,

Perhaps secrets and friendship, pillow fights and dresses,

Stories on the wet veranda, long chain of suitable adorers,

All that and not mere reprimands,

You didn’t sprout in yesterday’s rain, a mushroom,

I see that now, and all and all and everything I’ve missed,

skipping a generation, pushed into role playing,

Growing up on your lap, not by your side,

Silent sighs, Silent thoughts, all in silence, all lost.