I have never told you
My dears, never but now–
That I want to see you
Ripped apart
Like sudden halves of a pomegranate
And see the stunning red truth of you
Be revealed even to you
In the sunlight striking the bowl
Of this world…

For I have met your soul
Even when you hid it
In plain sight
In your house of things
Believing that the doll house was
All there was to do…
I saw through the peek-a-boo
And through your arrangements
Of immense pleasure and pain
And of how hard you try
To maintain the equilibrium between
Throwing a party and
Touching the soul of your child…
Between following the clock
Until the house has slept
And returning then alone
To your precious solitude…

But a moment have you, before
another sleep and another
Overtakes your glorious fire!
You with your riches and you
With your fearful legacy and plans
Is that all you will give yourself
And not your own full audacity?
Decking your boat with gossamer flowers
While the whole ocean moans for you–
Is there a greater poverty?

Come, I say, spread out your finest silk
Made of the throbbings of your being
And wear it everywhere unabashedly…
For once sit still without an answer
Or books or eloquence or curtains
And let it all turn into the field
Where you still run wild
Both arms flailing apart in freedom
Enveloping the entire sky–
Stopping, listening, waiting
Expecting any moment
To greet in tears of joy
Your other forgotten self.

-Rakhi Varma