Would You Let Her Be?

By Asmita Vashisht

And so she was born,

‘twas just another night;

And she had ordinary beautiful eyes,

With a gradually developing sight.

Only if you left her at that,

The sight need not become an insight.

But no, she was in your tutelage,

Fast learning the tricks of the trade;

Tiny hands soon busied themselves,

Cooking, cleaning and caring, as per the rules laid.

She learnt she wasn’t free to roam,

But You also taught her that this wasn’t Home.

Because one day, a Prince Charming would arrive,

And you sold her the dream that made her thrive.

Soon she did not mind the chores,

Did not care if she was belittled or ignored.

You expected to be absolved of all your faults,

As you were to give her ‘The Prince Charming’ as a reward.

And the Prince Charming came,

But the Abode of Love felt like Land of Lame;

‘cause he cherished in measures and cared in naught,

Did she expect more than she ought?

Some stories do end here,

For some, the Wheel of Tragedy just doesn’t care.

‘He’ who was to accept, cherish, care and love,

One day just decided that he had had enough.

He went away, You called it Fate;

But she was left all confused and desolate.

Isn’t Home all about acceptance and belonging;

Rather than pushinging away by unreasoned hate?

Only if your tutelage was an unbiased affair.

Where Prince Charmings are also taught to cherish and care.

But your ideals are too high and means too shallow;

You judge in the skies and function in gallows.

Now she is that empty shell on the shore,

Who doesn’t know a thing more.

She curses her husband with all her life,

But trains her daughter to be a perfect wife.

And it doesn’t penetrate her, Your millennial whim;

That she doesn’t even need him.

Only if one gazes deep into these eyes,

To see, it is not the men they fight.

‘Tis that anguish;

That hopelessness;

That desperation to end,

An eternity of loneliness.

Crying, whimpering, yet clumsily rising,

Teetering on the brink of sanity;

Uncaring yet still wounded,

By the barbed scorns of society;

A hypothetical choice if they might,

Between a corrected wrong or an uncorrected right?

Do you have enough empathy to spare?

To not deliver dreams outside one’s care?

To not sell the idea of artificial acceptance,

Pitting it against an achievable independence?

To accept and cherish without idealistic judgements?

To let her be, alive, free in every moment.

By Asmita Vashisht