Payaliya Jhankaar

She moved as soft as possible,

Her coloured skirt swished in the night’s air,

But the bells on her anklets gave her away,

She tried to avoid their ring-

She ran farther and farther away-

And soon, there she was, out of earshot.

The sweet smell of the night’s air held her captive,

The bliss of being by herself-

Her longing, finally she acquired-

A sense of belonging,

A sense of oneness with herself.

Moved had she, so far from societal fetters-

That she heard or saw nobody in her vicinity.

The bells embedded in her very intrinsic anklets-

Rang, and rang loud.

There she was, completely out of earshot,

And the bells on her anklets rang loud as she ran,

They complimented the rhythm of her run.

Sweet music did she provide,

The trees swayed to the swish of her skirt

While the blades of grass danced to the rhythm of her anklets.

Yet, there she was in a dismal state,

Her eyes shone in the darkness-

Revealing a burning fire, capable of consuming the earth-

Her hair unfurled, each strand exclusively.

The necessity of peaceful being burned her insides,

Her hands and feet swayed in percussionery trends-

And the trees caught every glimpse of emotion in her eyes.

Her graceful moves set the surroundings to tune,

The skies rained on her causing their droplets to sing,

Recognising their rhythm, the bells on her anklets rang accordingly.

And there she was in the midst of clatter of cutlery,

When she realised all she did was sourced-

From some wondrous music, she woke-

To find herself in the midst of those very societal fetters

She seemed to break free from to find herself,

Oh! It was just a passing moment,

One very special moment that ended almost tragically.

Dolashree K. Mysoor