Veiled By Society's Grace: A Widow's Truth

By Nidarshana Das

In the hushed stillness of a fateful eve,

A widow’s tale begins, with hearts that grieve.

The news, a tempest of sorrow, did arrive,

Tearing asunder the fabric of her life.

Shattering her world, her love no longer alive.

White, once a symbol of purity and grace,

Now cloaks her form, her soul’s embrace.

It’s pallor not just a shroud for her frame,

But a veil for her soul, forever changed.

Vermilion, once a mark of wedded bliss,

Now hidden away, a silent, mournful kiss.

Vermilion, once a beacon of love’s embrace,

Now nestled deep in a silent, sacred place.

Gleaming no more upon her raven hair,

But locked away, a token of despair.

Its vibrant hue is now a memory of the past,

Locked in a cabinet, where memories last.

Colours, once vibrant, now distant, like a fading dream,

As society’s judgment casts a shadow, unseen.

She longs to hold close all that he was,

Yet society’s chains tighten, its laws.

She longs to grasp them, hold them tight,

Yet society’s gaze casts them into night.

For tradition’s chains bind her tender heart,

Tearing her world, tearing her apart.

For tradition and fear bind her tight,

Trapping her in a world devoid of light.

She yearns to adorn herself once more,

With colours, with love’s lore.

She yearns to wear the bangles, the red,

But society’s whispers fill her with dread.

But whispers of judgment, of scorn, of shame,

Echo through her being, whispering her name.

So she lingers in shadows, in solitude’s embrace,

A widow’s truth, veiled by society’s grace.

A widow’s truth, bitter and cold,

In a world where her story remains untold.

Her heart still beats with love’s refrain,

Yet society’s rules bring only pain.

By Nidarshana Das