I meet her every day in the mirror,
Morning she appears mystical somewhat omnipresent,
The coffee aroma settling like “Amrit”,
A peak into the afternoon and her reflection converges into self-questioning,
The Goddess with her hair loosely falling on the shoulders,
There she stands staring at the appalling accidents of life.
The next day she appears less submissive,
A proposal of ‘self-worth’ initiated through her big eyes,
Clad in a Maheshwari saree: the softness of the fabric misleading,
Kohl smeared eyes, red lips, the nose pin,
All the loyal accessories ready to devour the evil,
The Alta feet soft yet tough to redefine destiny.
The pallu of the saree declaring to me: don’t hold me!
Affirmative, I nod my head as I stare into the mirror,
The Goddess finally emerges from the gush of incense sticks,
“Where have you been so long?” I ask,
She merely opens her eyes: a testimony to her powerful yet assuring gaze,
The Goddess, the Devi has finally arrived: calculative yet proportional inside me!