By Sakshi Bhatia
I Longed
To belong
Like the way
I heard in a song
That was sung by the
Beggar woman sitting outside
Hustling for money
And entertaining
The vegetable sellers
Sniggering at her madness
And mocking her sadnessBut there was some amount of
gladnessin the air
For the sun
The trees
And green leaves
And fruits and coconut water
“She too was someone’s daughter
I for one, was no one’s wife.”
It may be a fight, Strife
But life was life.”
“As a looker, a sophisticated hooker
With a booker
Prize winning
Novel
Clutched In hand,
I pretended to understand everything
And knew nothing about
The twisted ways
Of the world and the streets.I felt the desperation to belong
And sing a nice song
And maintain the tune
And not howl at the moon
And make a public outcry
About how people
Die such horrible deaths
And live such strange lives.with their perpetually drunk husbands
And unhappy industrious gossipy wives.
In
So many over-crowded hives
So many lies, so many eyes
So much to realize
So much to think about
And how to belong
How to be right
How to be artfully wrong
How to learn from mistakes
And give and take
And be smart about money
And not give away free honey
Because the bees are running
Out of steam and are being
Replaced
By cyborgs
And robots
And zombies.”
“ON THIS STREET, where I supposedly
belong there live
Tomboys who identify as men
And women who identify as dogs
And dogs that identify as friends
And friends that identify as enemies
And enemies that identify as neighbors
Who labor all day & night
To keep the home fires
Burning bright.
In the cat race and the rat-race
In modern caves
On little streets
Where I long to belong
And sing a song
Even if it is a little out of tune.
For Tomorrow
There will be another moon
With Another loon
On the streets hustling
In the bustling
Of this strange planetthat needs aliens to man it
And devices to scan it
Over the counter
Made of granite
And marbles
That have been lost and found because the planet itself was round
&the street where I belong is straight
And there is truly something great
About living
And being alive
For which
I had to believe
That I was worth it
Without products of lo’real
Lining the shelf
And self help is
To Be unreal
And make the damned art
Birth it.
This scorched earth
Just skirt it
Work it
Write it
Take the apple and bite it.
The gravity
Of belonging is not the fiefdom
Of the fit and the strong
And the rich who are ever wrong
And always right
About being polite
And not dwelling in madness
Because the vendors and sellers
Will mock the sadness
Of every woman
Hustling the streets
Longing to belong.
Singing a song.
For your entertainment.
By Sakshi Bhatia
omg , what did i read feeling blessed that i read and enjoy it so well written