This self ordained incubation has kept her protected,
But this scared self created space is also isolated,
Between many personas that is demanded of her day,
This one she plays in hiding,
This space of solace,
It’s time to claim it’s presence,
And arrange in order of preference,
The timeline of her day,
So, this poet you speak of,
Where is she?
Is she still in her garden in company of bees?
Still there reading the moves of cockatoo?
And admiring the art of the spider?
Still comprehending how it all weaves in,
The inspirations, the voices with the inflictions of others that find her,
“Tell her when you find her, to look where she seeked,”
Arch her neck and face the skies,
She’s been asking them a question,
And here’s the reply,
They say : It’s time,
Now show up,
For it can’t wait for her sense of mastery,
She will learn at the role,
Someone there needs to know,
It’s possible, it’s still being done,
The society still admits new members forever in awe of the dead poets,
Well no, she’s here- This poet!
Although reluctantly,
Still much to learn, still not quite ready,
The skies say “Now”
Not further explanation temporarily,
She’s here, she says again,
Her curiosity, her complexities befits her role, sustains her rights,
But this part needs to be claimed,
This one can’t surely be tamed,
This one smiles at the end, as she adds ‘the name’
The poet reasons,
As I show up, they will too,
They will feel free to nurture,
when it’s their time, they will continue look up too,
And they will show up to that which calls their names,
Afterall, didn’t the poet claim,
She is here to,
Elevate,
She is just one mighty link of this chain,
That binds from Earth to skies,
Hoping that each link whispers to the other,
I have known, I heard,
I showed up
When it said,
It’s time.
– Rupika Moitra
Flutter and Glide 