She is yar
Without a mast
Without a sail
No one can surpass her

Accouterments are out of style
Attire is a statement
The vestment of a thousand years
Shrouds the seeds of discontentment

The tunic is essential
Yet strangles and confines
The veil I have no need for
A vestige of patriarchal times

Servility is habit forming
Simplicity – the paradigm
How much is lost, how much is won
When I uncover and learn to climb



I’m not too young to misinterpret
Nor too old for stage direction
The world appears to me annoyed
At my slightest imperfection

The unfettered and the unsung
Conversate in whispers
They glide among the tallest trees
And drink from the big dipper

They keep no tally
But to note how early rise the sun
How many hours is the day
How many tales homespun

Who reaches down to touch the sky
Has no penchant to complain
Perfection is an afterthought
When dancing in the rain