A WOMAN, @40


By the time you near forty,
You begin to enjoy your own company.
You find a seasonal garden within yourself
and roam leisurely, among
birds and insects,    
or look at the lone sky
and breathe in
the vastness it contains.

 
You realize,
men are mere havoc
in the life of a woman, glorious
in her own terms.

 
The blurredness
of distance
and her clarity of vision.
The peace she makes
with herself.
The long distance gaze
of summer noons.
Her moonlit sandbanks, amidst
overcrowded everyday.

 
At forty, she awaits love
Mild, sedimentary
and distanced. Like
a child counting
twinkles at night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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