Impressions

You see her on your way to work
a brisk efficiency and cheer will
animate her soul as she steps into the office;
now her eyes are ringed by dark circles
set in a flaccid fallen face.
And you think to yourself
that between the tedium of last night’s dishes
and the children’s morning tiffin
she has become
a boring nameless woman
as routine as the daily train schedule.

You see her in the boardroom
completely in control, it seems,
with her power suit and presentations;
the puffiness barely concealed by too much make-up
and a too-bright smile.
And you think to yourself
that between the alcohol-tinged social nights
and caffeine induced mornings
she has become
yet another pill-popping professional,
just an incompetent juggler of life.

But in the guise of love, or lust, or marriage,
in the precious moments she thought she owned,
in the comfort of her dream-less sleep,
the freedom of her body has been mangled
leaving her without tears,
quite dry-eyed, dried up everywhere;
leaving her staring blindly into
a violated night;
leaving her to continue tomorrow
with a tired mask that slips so slightly
that you, the stranger,
see her and think to yourself
Oh look what these women do to themselves.

(c) Anita Vasudeva, March 2005