Written as a part of the writers’ circle, meeting 2;
inspired by the prompt: “what is this playing that you do while you hide your intelligent self” from a Rumi poem | 19 April, 2021
i am still only learning to play.
make believe. ghar ghar. war war. office office. future future.
the future that i now try to play along with.
irrelevant cancelled boy, standing at his window, 10 years of patriarchal arrogance showing,
jayati is a silly girl, he squeals, and yet, the 10 year old me continues
to play forth, believing in herself.
relevant boy, playing hard, playing it cool, then playing hard to get, playing down,
me playing catch up, playing off, playing with fire
as he plays false, and as we play off, he plays foul, i play off into righteousness.
more relevant, pedestal playboy, playing me around,
i play the fool, playing right into his game of free play,
bringing into play a forever thing with doubt.
tone deaf, me, playing the harp by the ear,
learning to match the rhythm of my heart and soul,
but my mind plays tricks on me.
laughing, in disbelief, so there’s enough of not no-play, after all work, fearing dullness,
still hoping, making a play for fair play
playing this wretched game of mis-remembering the un-numbing, play by play.
me, the pla(y)intiff, standing in front of the mirror
role playing the playwright, the just a girl
standing in front of herself, asking her to love her.
play the part, play the role, play the whole, play by design,
(an intelligent move lol)
squeezing it into my clayful heart like the playdoh, shaping it into meaning,
i pretend that the abstract art that’s left, is love.