I had lain, sat and walked in silence for too long.
a marionette on strings.
Then someone freed me.
Or so, I thought.
“we worship your spirit- the cult of a Goddess. You are safe.”
So I was safe. Safe with layers of myths woven around me, words shining with glory and expectations,
And the infallibility of that pedestal you built on which I am
and I am to be.
To elevate and emancipate me, I am sure.
And happy I was that I was finally, finally free.
One day, my pedestal sprouted a tree.
With branches- long and sinewy,
Silken on my skin, slurred with a heavy love.
Emancipated , I knew, my destiny.
I was to exist again, in harmony,
With all that nature has thought about me.
Or endure that nagging sense of loss
That always gnaws at me.
So privileged am I
You see, I am grateful to you, my benefactor,
the great hero that will always be there to patronize me.
You gave me air to breathe, books to read and songs to sing, oh yes.
But, those were mine, regardless.
So how else can I be grateful to you?
Yes, yes, you let me be born.
To read, cook, and tend.
And there was that red and white man with a dazzling smile
That taught me other things too.
And a crooked smile when I could not or would not
Prove it! Prove it, prove it!
That I am worthy at all.
Day and night, day and night.
And I have learnt so well
To hide my bile in a plastic smile.
Once I had broken through the wax at my feet
To step on a bluer grass
And your kinsmen toyed with me
I was sheathed in shame and rage,
When you came back
You sentenced me.
And built a stronger pedestal with greener and many more, trees.
You never knew what it was to be me
To still be a marionette with invisible strings
And yet, you will ridicule
Every time I dance.
I guess when it only ends
If I crumble to dust
Or will you then build a gilded urn to encase my afterlife?