Women At 30 Poem by Shuchika Sahay

A woman of thirty
Is at once, so many,
Things. But mainly
She is content with
Who she is.
Her body that defied
so far, learns
the law of gravity.
And the slither of silver
In her hair, is actually
A marked punctuality.
Her bills and taxes are paid
Her friends are measured, sorted
Her plans are all drawn
She is set in her ways
Music, food, movies, art
She dresses her age
And yet she may leave all for a whim
Or a whim for all.
For one, she is done
With loving wrong men.
She knows Wickham for Wickham
And Darcy for Darcy
When, she re-reads her Jane Austen
She is so many people at once.
The prodigal daughter,
Awakened to her old mom’s misgivings
After a decade of rebellion
And, the mother, that she is now
Her cup full of motherly longings
The partner, the friend
Who walks with her, an imperfect man
Sweat soaked man, with worry lines
Its his calluses, she finds her own
Its his imperfection she finds divine
Over her intuition, she trusts no one
She basks in her belief, her belief
Takes her to places, everyone shuns! ! !
And, its her relationship with herself
That she wakes upto,
That she cherishes the most
She’s buried the hatchet,
Confronted old ghosts.
She is done with proving things
Done with critics and detractors
It’s a tenuous thread that gnaws within
A journey with herself that she begins.