Silently she suffers
No more, does the vermilion streak adorn her forehead,
Nor can she boast of the black thread,
Instead her eyes once known for their sparkling joy,
Speak volumes of the abysmal pain
Born from the burning pyre of her beloved.
Alone, she struggles in the universal maelstrom,
A world, whose index finger points at her,
Branding her as an unfortunate SHE.
The doors to every festive gathering are barred,
Lest she renders it inauspicious.
An affectionate gesture for a man
Arouses suspicion in women,
While misconception takes root in men;
Her desire for flowers
Offer a bait for the sceptics to toy with her insecurity.
Her fanciful colours mock her white garb
While society purges her into dire solitude.
I watch her drowning in tears,
For no fault of her own, save Fate’s cruel joke.
Unable to bear the barbs directed at her,
She cries aloud - for a new HAVEN
Weeded out of such evils
Where only blossoms of love dance
Kissed by the soft breath of compassion
Where she has an entity of her own
Measured by her own individuality
Not by the staff called MAN.
~ Alamelu ~
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