There she was, dressed immaculately, unvaryingly seated in the first row
With trembling, old fingers holding her favourite pen touching a blank page of her illegible manuscript.
A man with the badge gave her a familiar glance but little did she know;
Because only when the bibliophile’s ears caught the words of the maiden poetry, her eyes she would lift.
In turn with the other they recited poems, verses and tales;
Of joy and of pain,
Of mislay and of gain.
They divulged dreams, ambitions, love and magic
By rhyming words, which they thought was the only logic.
While the boys spoke of love and loss,
The girls spoke about why the society needs a female boss.
She smiled and she sobbed, as demanded by the words on the stage;
Her eyes shone with admiration for the courage shown by their young age.
“Any more verses?”, asked the young man with the badge.
His eyes beholding the reticent, and this time she did know;
Her hands now shivered with agitation as she headed for the extempore,
And went on to the stage, which had always been her fantasy.
Her hesitant mind nudging her bold heart;
Which she wanted to avoid, her idiosyncrasy.
‘Opportunities’, was her title;
And the words which were captured in her mouth began to flow,
So did the tears which crawled on her wrinkled cheeks and made them glow.
Her voice had it all- love, dreams, magic and hope;
And regret for all the missed chances with which she couldn’t cope.
Thunders of applauds and cheers of, “We love you!”
Welcomed her as she took her seat in the first row
With trembling, old hands joined together for the dream that had finally come true.