I am not my mother.

You are the horrid moon

that seeks to wreak havoc

inside me, with a rope

you pull me to you, and I

let you, and I leap high

and higher and higher,

always assured that I'm about

to reach to you, but you're

only close enough to

make me dance to your tune,

far enough to know that

no matter how high a tide

you draw from me, it will

never be high enough to

come swelling and swirling

and gushing and gurgling

into your orbit, so you follow

the earth, round and round

and round, and you hope

that I will be satisfied with

my haphazard and futile tries,

but you have forgotten that

the earth might be my mother,

but I cannot be contained

like her, and I will be the ocean

only to let all the anger trapped

inside me rise up and up to 

come back as a hurricane

and swallow all that it can,

so I can start a new life,

severed from the rope you hold.

Published by Mahima Kapoor


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