A Girl’s Stride Along The Masculine Road

A Girls Stride Along The Masculine Road long poem

Photo by SFB579 Namaste

All braced to face the day,
The diurnal engine ignited,
Gently revving up,
Barging into the quietude
Of the colony,
With a daily prayer escaping
His mumbling lips,
As he steered mildly
Into the road,
To see a car pulled up
Near the curb,
Standing near their vehicle,
Two men conversing merrily,
Amidst the fumes
From a burnt cigar,
Held between their dry fingers.
Ignoring them,
He wheeled along the road,
Descrying a rickshaw parked,
In front of a house,
With the driver lying on the backseat,
Reading a newspaper.
Ignoring him as well,
He moved on,
Until he reached the junction,
Where a bus stopped,
Rumbling as a lady alighted the bus,
Holding a hefty bag,
With her hand donning
A silver bangle studded with
A splendoured butterfly,
Same as the one,
He had once gifted to his daughter,
Who appeared startled
On seeing him,
Smiling at his twigged grimace,
Approaching his car.
Rolling down the window,
The man asked her,
If she needed a lift back home,
On seeing her hand strained
With her heavy bag.
But she refused meekly,
As she strode along the road instead,
Waving at him goodbye.
Beaming, he resumed his ride,
As his daughter diminished inchmeal
In the rear-view mirror,
For every step she trudged
Away from him,
A heart beat of his skipped,
With her vanishing and reappearing in a jiff,
Behind the cars that whizzed past,
As the vehement butterflies
Fluttered in his stomach.
The lips which he had curved gleefully
Formed a flurried line,
As he held the steering wheel
A bit firmer this time,
Fixing his eyes on the road,
Though they sneaked from their corners,
Upon her dwindling effigy.
With a dubious surge gushing his mind
For the darting images of the men,
Once he had ignored near the curb,
Had him flapped about her,
As he dithered to ram the brakes,
Bringing the vehicle to a halt,
As he saw her passing by them,
Wondering whether it was his muddled mind or
Did the rickshaw and the car dilated in real,
Over his daughter’s echo?
Argus-eyed over his daughter’s footsteps,
Prudent to catch her before she falls down,
Like she used to in her toddler days,
A puff of prayer escaped his lips,
With every step she took,
Along the macho road.
The rickshaw driver might have noticed her,
The merry men might have noticed her,
But neither had they bothered her
Nor was she fazed by them,
As she walked amidst the faint fumes
Emanating from the stub,
Reaching safely at the colony.
The man had sighed a deep relief,
As he loosened his grip over the wheel,
Changing the gear,
For a swift drive,
With his lips curved back to a proud glee.
“Petrified” might be the word
He can choose for today’s plight
As a father,
But “Hope” is eternal for an optimist,
As he saw his daughter’s stride
Along the masculine road.

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