A Sri Lankan Woman

Sari

Sri Lankan woman,
Stands at a junction, to embark,
On a career or a baby, rarely both, 
Toying with her need of the hour,
To juggle the onus of
Being the graceful gender,
And a descendent,
Of mitochondrial eve.

How beautiful is a woman in a sari,
A brief exhibition of her navel,
A glimpse of cleavage,
Her head nodding in the wind,
With a carefree gait; the sari’s fall,
Lose in the nascent wind,

Walking to the music of her heartbeat,
That goes to and fro, skipping
Pounding, accelerating,
Dancing to a musical clause,
That defines her,

Que Sera Sera…