I stand strong doesn't mean I never fell.
I see life doesn't hint that I never acknowledge death.
You see my smile but not my hidden scars,
You hear me laugh but never my wails.
You see what eyes can perceive and you end up judging.
"Look, how she smiles", you say and twitch your face.
The plain white saree I adorn, is the canvas where I
plan to paint hues of life.
I will paint it pink and even red
And let you mock and slay .
I will trample your hatred with a fiersome laughter,
I will tread on your dreams
Never soft, always fierce.
You will dread me someday,
You will eat your hatred and gulp your venom.
That very day you would know what it takes to be a woman.
That very day , I shall have one good laugh.
"Read between the lines", I heard our professor say. We were in midst of a Victorian text. I looked at her point blank. She had spoken about something which I had no clue about. "Ma'am, would you please elaborate? ", I tried framing this sentence in my mind but my introverted self overpowered my inquisitive soul like everytime. I hopelessly waited for an explanation. Ma'am started explaining about how beyond the surface meaning of any written text, there lay a wide plethora of meaning which wasn't explicitly stated. She talked about finding a void between the written words and our imagination, that void which shapes our interpretation. That explanation opened doors to my perception of reading a text. It wasn't that I had never considered about the possibilities of meanings that lay coated in words until then, but, what perhaps I lacked was to look for that void where I questioned the layers of meaning, where I put myself in those layers of wo...
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