A day, a single day, years back in calendar,
The poet, get to steal, from the lap of time,
And earn a life again, afresh, from the,
Very beginning, from the start of creation;
Poet shall live it then, solely on her own terms,
Her own conditions shall she apply, she shall defy,
All the set rules of life, otherwise, tends,
To eclipse her existence, grasp her all,
In a grip so firm, that however hard she may try,
Cannot escape, cannot unbond, cannot give up.
Life, like an octopus, with thousand tentacles,
Embraces her from all sides, strangulated she feels,
But cannot escape, Oh! the breatheless poet,
Struggling to be free, and spread those wings,
On a much dreamt blue sky, high very high,
Above those floating clouds, above all you and I,
The poet wants to fly, give her wings, and bid goodbye!
~Manjuri~
