1. Poem by Pradeep Saini - Part 1
Independent Women
A lover is so enamoured
by the freedom of an independent woman
that he envisions binding her with love.
A recluse gazes upon an independent woman
with admiration and feels
remorse for his self-imposed isolation.
An adulterer regards an independent woman
as a mere statistic, recalling his scoresheet.
An art connoisseur scrutinizes an independent woman
much like a work of art,
discerning the palette of her life,
sensing a constant faint melancholy she carries,
one she never sheds.
Her heart, like a vivid crimson wildflower,
and the path to it, scattered with traces of persistent yellow sadness.
Blue is not something she wears on her back
but rather a subtle presence around her neck.
Hints of pink occasionally emerge
but mostly reside in the realm of memories,
while the wound in her soul remains perpetually green.
Society pays heed
to the discourse of the art connoisseur
and remarks,
blending their thoughts with his -
"See! How flamboyant these independent women are!"
Seeing all this, a poet aspires
to call all those women into his poem
but finds himself at a loss of words,
seeking a language
where calling a woman independent
doesn't sound like an insult.
A lover is so enamoured
by the freedom of an independent woman
that he envisions binding her with love.
A recluse gazes upon an independent woman
with admiration and feels
remorse for his self-imposed isolation.
An adulterer regards an independent woman
as a mere statistic, recalling his scoresheet.
An art connoisseur scrutinizes an independent woman
much like a work of art,
discerning the palette of her life,
sensing a constant faint melancholy she carries,
one she never sheds.
Her heart, like a vivid crimson wildflower,
and the path to it, scattered with traces of persistent yellow sadness.
Blue is not something she wears on her back
but rather a subtle presence around her neck.
Hints of pink occasionally emerge
but mostly reside in the realm of memories,
while the wound in her soul remains perpetually green.
Society pays heed
to the discourse of the art connoisseur
and remarks,
blending their thoughts with his -
"See! How flamboyant these independent women are!"
Seeing all this, a poet aspires
to call all those women into his poem
but finds himself at a loss of words,
seeking a language
where calling a woman independent
doesn't sound like an insult.



