Looking at her , I keep wondering
on which peg
she hangs her dreams
I know
she hasn't
set her heart on anyone yet.
out of terror of her father
or her mother's hawklike eye?

Even so
there must be something
she applies like kohl , tempering her loneliness.

She's my daughter
half my age
And when even younger than she
Travelling , I would often tell myself
looking at a straw hut, or a mango grove :
If the person that I loved
was living here
then I would live here too
He would go to work
And I would wait there cooking.
I dreamed my innocent dreams,
smaller than sparrows ,
but like a rocket , life took off.
It's not a hut, but a spacious house
where the food is placed on the table
and no one waits for anyone -
only sometimes I
catch my tender young daughter,
her eyes as fresh as an untouched diya lamp ,
smiling to herself
and I wonder :
Nothing of her
is hidden from me
But what is it
which even she
is unaware of ?