Illusions of Choice

Read some very relatable lines from beautiful a poem by Imtiaz Dharker

Choice

I may raise my child in this man’s house

or that man’s love,

warm her on this one’s smile, wean

her to that one’s wit,

praise or blame at a chosen moment,

in a considered way, say

yes or no, true, false, tomorrow

not today. . .

finally, who will she be

when the choices are made,

when the choosers are dead,

and of the men I love, the teeth are left

chattering with me underground?

just the sum of me

and this or that

other?

Who can she be but, helplessly,

herself?

Comments

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