The Tattooed Woman

She drapes her grace
In a piece of silk
Round it snakes on her
From her feet
Her waist
Her bosom
Her shoulders
It punctuates on her neck
Through a colourful butterfly
She hangs about the railing
With no care in the air
She croaks in a tough voice
And stamps her personhood
In a heckling feminine space
Which notices her
Then forgets her
She is just the fringe co-traveller
Carrying differing contents inside her silk

- Chandni Girija 

22-07-16