There are nights which make her cringe,
The woman in her detests every ounce of pain.
She feels the pain rise up her belly hitting each nerve,
The stiffled sobs and a surging disgust.
All in the name of a woman is what they say.
She bleeds through time in regular odd days
It comes unannounced kicking it's way.
And days of hushed tones with taboo attached.
Her touch defile, her shadow impure,
She gets caged in her own little den.
Look out they say, you need to accept it.
You can't whine nor put up a show
Shame, honour , chastity : Remember the catch words
Their speech rings hollow
She can feel each bit of her body in pain
She hears nothing, she cares for nothing
She bleeds but that's not a choice
And she decides to rise
She lays shame thread bare as "whisper" no longer comes home cloaked in newspapers!
The one thing that I always had dreamt of as a kid was to have a caravan that could take me to places.I always wanted a gypsy styled life. The idea itself mesmerized me to the extent that I kept dreaming of it the whole time not even realising how it was time which kept on rolling but I stood exactly at the same place, my dreams could never concretize. What was laughed at as a childish game was so important to me that I keep doodling it in my memory till now. I see a meadow, lush green with those small daffodils growing by, perhaps Wordsworth's daffodils! Then I see a girl, her wild unkept hair sailing in the gentle breeze. She has a smile which speaks of solitude, and her heart , well that's swelling with happiness as he looks at her caravan, after all she finally has a life on wheels. What more could she wish for, what more can anyone wish for? It's not always that we get to live a life we conceived as a kid, life keeps on deciding our track. From what we liked doing...
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