Choices are not always comforting,
when you know they take you to the same place.
That short one on your left side, held his credo high
He whirled eddies inside of me, severing the grasp when i began to flow.
Then there was him,
wanting me to mend, repair, and restore his injured door-hood,
caused by the last her
I did, and the door opened no more.
That beautiful one out there, i fancied
Like tinsel, he dazzled,
Like froth, he fell flat.
And how can i forget the one on the far right,
Whose promises were durable and visions of Us too far
A simple ‘no’ and i could see
He was dying,
Of parasites and beliefs
Quite a few are there who just desire some greasing on the knob,
For a large number, Us is a mere reminiscent of the lost nurturing from the first her
Some open, some don’t
Some creak, some be numb
Together they appear strong,
Heads held high, knobs uptight
In solus, he can barely stand
But his door-hood be still intact
Yet I am free,
free to choose a door
But choices, as they say, are not always comforting
When you know they take you to the same place,
Or no place.
Oh, the doors.
Sandhya A.S is research scholar at South Asian University. She takes interest in gender issues, epistemology and power among other inclinations she is still exploring. Alternately, she is interested in carnatic music, free-style dancing and killing time in general.