They live their lives on their terms
They are all women like me as such
They don’t fret over their past
They don’t obsess with future much
They drive their cars and their
view points, with the same alacrity
From Mumbai to Manhattan
Their stories weaved in one tapestry
They loved their men ruthlessly
To each one they were true
Fear and biological clocks apart
They shrug the going aways with little rue
Lunch can be forsaken, niceties as well
Dinners and dates can go cold
But they jump up enthused, at midnight
For the mad dream that they hold
These are women like me as such
Devoid of seduction, free of clairvoyance
Their tales many muted mutinies
Mired in morality, also an act of defiance
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem