The Divorcee

I
Bit by bit
The smooth rounded shape
Of her happiness
Acquired angles,
She herself
Had become sharper, brighter
Bearing the weapons
Of a ‘liberated woman’
She was probably the only one
Who knew and admitted
After sleepless nights
Spent weeping
That’s the liberation
Was nothing but despair
Nonetheless,
She wore the mask
Of a proud Modern young woman,
The product of Introspection
And a piercing together
Of what she remembered.

II
She spoke with such indifference
Such derision
That it would have been pointless
To contradict her
For she herself seemed
Always ready to step down
From whatever
Stand she has taken
But in fact she never really did,
She clung to her prejudices
Her personal experiences
To a code of living
That had been instilled
More from Harper’s Bazaar
Than from the Gita,
And her weary voice
That dragged a little
And was so convincing
A cover-up
For a frightened pitiless woman.

III
Yes she was afraid
Afraid she wouldn’t have enough money
Though she had plenty,
She was afraid
Afraid of being old
Though she was young,
Afraid that she would give herself away
Though there was nothing
Under that air of elegance
And offhand manner,
There was nothing at all
Behind that façade,
No haunting Memories
Nothing….