Daisy Zacharia Kozhupakkalam - the girl who ran with the wolves

Nymeria should have been her name, or wildfire or something like that.

I cannot say some days how I found a girl like her in the most ordinary of places – college

For her place and her demeanor spoke of a battlefield.

On the best of days, her hair like her temper would run amok

Yet, you could see the flash of a grin and her nose-pin in the sun as easily if you knew her well

A friend, a child and a counselor all rolled in one.

A poet, a warrior, traveler and comrade!

A woman to love, and a force to reckon with, she was my champion when even I wasn’t.

Thank you, for being my friend Nymeria, the girl who runs with the wolves and happy birthday, here is to two more glorious years with you.

PASSENGERS

To the shaken middle aged wide eyed lady on the train – breathe fully.
As you see the rain pouring down on the city you love,
Dragging each breath in quick successive gasps to escape the aftershock, of being alove.
To the children playing in gutters carefree –
Let no one tell you you ought to be sad.
To the handsome youth hanging from the rafters and living each day in the ecstasy of staring down death – grip stronger to life.
To the transgendered prostitute and her pimp traveling alone in the last compartment in the dimmed lights – I see your tears.
The strength though lies in your bodies that break a little each night, comes from your uncatergorized unfettered heart-
Let no one ever reduce you to a tick mark in a box.
To the countless heavily pregnant women who don’t push and squabble for a seat like others do –
Let your children be born in a world with more space but less distance.
To the 777 potential soul-mates looking out for me in all the wrong directions –
I’m here. I’ll wait. Keep looking.
To my friend, looking a little lost, a little annoyed at the general mayhem and with ironic disdain at me-
Look around, take it all in.
This city’s nervous system, its firing cells.
Look at my people.