Sarla

By Christina Mariam Das

Deep within

a withered soul seeks out

in pain no mind could infer.

Borne down with scars,

a cruel existence withheld,

seasons and merriment passed her by,

her world existed far away.

A bent neck, touches of early grey,

She withheld secrets of times untold.

In a flash she thought

of henna pecked hands,

a veiled face,

weighed down by jewelry,

her mind a whispering chaos.

In the mirror her youthful self stared back,

at sun kissed cheeks and lively eyes

once full of life.

‘A deity’, people called out to her,

her face veiled for an unknown man,

destiny submitted unto his hands

her vows so pure then,

two times a decade ago.

Sarla, called out the voice,

through un unshed tear in her eye,

she saw her world in a blur,

she poured broth.

Why? Her ranting mind bellowed,

gently she shut the kitchen door

coz her world existed here.

Black smoke through the chimney,

carried her dreams somewhere far.

She sat like Ella in the ashes,

whose glass slipper the prince never picked up,

she sat inside barricaded and fenced.

By Christina Mariam Das