The Dandelion Seed
by Anshu Choudhry

At seventeen I thought I was the girl
who could never be the woman
my mother designed, the school defined, the neighbours
opined with a father behind. At seventeen,

the world was a narrow one-way street into
which entry was welcome less than denied, and I
a dandelion seed floated aimless and blind, alarmed,
petrified of landing on the sterile side. At seventeen,

I was more a child than I had ever been, in the last
mile of the journey to prime. And the tack
ahead too lonely and desolate as they all plodded
the duckling facing the vast endless unknown bight. At seventeen

the books weighed heavy on the narrowing waist
but I wondered if I could turn into a man if I carried, them
all into my mind. And then when the flowery cheeks stared at me
from the mirror, the guilt from colour felt a crime. At seventeen,

I was the dandelion seed silky, gossamer, anxious and naïve,
fearful of falling back in time…

IMAGE: “Wind-blown dandelion seeds” by blickpixel.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This poem is an honest expression of myself at 17, a time of transition in my life when I was confused and felt waylaid by the expectations of those around me.


Anshu Choudhry
holds degrees of Masters level in Mathematics and English. She is based in New Delhi, India ,and works for the Government of India. Her poems and short stories have appeared in Kritya, Ken*again, FullofCrow, Asian Signature, Muse India, EastLit, Hans India, Setu Journal, anthologies, and other publications.