Tuesday, January 26

Rekha on herself

My mother called me Rekha
A line, crooked line.
A kohl black line in deep eyes
A Line, I crossed
To know my limit

I am the last courtesan
Singing ruefully
In a court,
Sans patrons,
My husky voice
made men leave
their fortunes
and sit at my feet

I am the other woman
Always the sucker,
Clung to you, leech-like
The perfect antidote
to a dutiful wife
who sang devotional
She fought me
Till the last frame
Two women,
Both perfect
Drawn in a battle
Over a piece of ass

Do you know, I laughed
at the 70 mm irony
my life had become,
later, in my vanity van.

I am the “it girl”
All sheen and gloss
I am the red stiletto
and red luscious
lips in your dreams
I am what yoga
does to a yogini

I survived, despite
The hair on my face
And my broad broad hips
I survived an absent father
An illegitimate lover
I survived husbands and dogs
Dying on me.

Now, I live by the sea
In a white kanjeevaram
And jewels,
Oh ! I always loved jewels
I live with cats and dogs
I tend a small nursery
I live with strength that
comes when you have
Loved so deeply.

1 comment:

neetu said...