Jaishree Nair Poems
She sat on the chair,
Half inclined to turn and run,
The white reflected in the mirror
Her tresses golden and amber.
She felt a moment of hesitation,
Should she, or shouldn't she?
The final word given,
She waited for the cold blade.
Snip, snip, snip went the scissors
The tresses fell all around.
Long, brown shiny with a tint of gold,
She closed her eyes cold.
She opened and stared
Shocked-a stranger in the mirror?
Faint memory of a writer's childhood fear
Shingled hair-sign of cowardice?
She dreaded going out,
My father -man of few words,
lovable he was for most,
insisted on the best for us
his two little princesses.
Freedom he trusted us with,
values he taught us many,
lavished love on us unconditionally,
his treasures-his two daughters.