Maiden

By Ekta Pandey

He was not in love, it was just lust,

A foolish desire, a broken trust.

The maiden, pure, with silent grace,

Bore no guilt for his empty embrace.

He departed then, a hollow sigh,

Leaving her beneath the open sky.

The maiden, calm, with a distant gaze,

Her silent sorrow, a quiet blaze.

She wove her pain, her art concealed,

In colours and words, her wounds were sealed.

Each stroke, a whisper the world can't hear,

Her canvas held both hope and fear.

For love's a fire both fierce and deep,

While lust's a storm that cannot keep.

And though she flew with broken wings,

She found her voice and learned to sing.

By Ekta Pandey