Not Waiting for Godot / Poem by Lily Swarn

Poem by Lily Swarn
 
 
Not Waiting for Godot
 
It’s futile I know
Waiting for you is a farce
 
The laughter lines have made inroads on my face
Like village drains ,open and shameless
Etched permanently with a sarcastic smirk
Proclaiming my seniority with emphatic decibels
Quite like the speeches of hot headed leaders
 
I still wait
It’s not in my control
This wait is a ritual of sorts
That I have been adhering to
I line my eyes with kohl
Carefully dab my lips with colour
And sit in my favourite chair
Feet on a stool , tiny and tired
 
It’s not Godot that I wait for
I don’t write stories like Beckett
I live my story , it’s not yarns that I spin
Watching the orange hues pale away in the western horizons
I recite a bit of the Rubaiyaat
Wondering why Fitzgerald wanted to translate it
 
Soon I slurp on the last sip of tea
The dregs holding the usual fascination
As I peep deep into the recesses of
The homely blue patterned cup
The twinkle of cow- bells alerts my ears
You could be rushing home to me today
You know how you loved your evening prayers
 
I am an optimist
You know that, don’t you ?
 
Copyright Lily Swarn 25.2.2020

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