i call this poem "the perfect woman". i found this image at deviant art and it actually inspired me to write this poetry. visual and verbal art are joined by their umbilical cords... its about a woman, and how her completeness can never really truly be grasped. people try to generalize and many women sell out by fittin in these stupid moulds, thereby loosing a chance to truly experiment and find out who they really are. i have seen many people face the question, " what for you is the essence of being a woman?", many of these are posed at beauty pagents and the answers make you wanna wish that you werent one! these women may make visual material for some photographers ( who are solely responsible for adding character to random, symmetrical features that they provide), but they seem utterly useless otherwise. there are some exceptions like sushmita sen. then again, no one can even compare the kind of character jolie has on her face....

but anyways, this is my answer to that eternal question. theer are a few pictures that describe the answer for me. this is one of them. as and when i have time and i write about the others, i will post them here



THE PERFECT LADY

Passing through my fluid nights
I waste away in my unheard sighs
Then tweak my mask just a little bit
Readying myself for worldly highs

You may think that you know me
Know me as a mystery you seek
You may imagine me as your slave
As the silent, the bleeding, the meek

You may live my thousand deaths
And make me a muse for all your sorrows
You may hate my very sight
And make me the today of your tomorrows

You may put me in a thousand moulds
Hoping that none will ever break
Then banish me for being so one dimensional
And this injustice I will silently take

You will see a million faces
But still remember mine in the rain
For it had so much inertia
So much silence, so much pain

You will try to delve a bit deeper
And rape my heart through your love
Yet you fall in the halls of injustice
When your desire I gently shove

You will put me on a black pedestal
Worship me for the world to see
Wake up and see, I am a woman
Your funeral just set me free

copyright 2006 shruti bhutada