Her Soul

A creator she is, her life’s a blank canvas

From holding on to the roots

To the fruit bearer always in her boots,

Holding on to the paint the society brushes,

Not blinking her eyelashes once in despair

Imperial a word definition of her care.

Her dreams are huge,

She is ready to stand in life’s long queue,

Wings she builds with the sky unknown,

Unveiling herself to pay every debt and loan,

A loan to polish her tarnished smile,

A debt to abscond from the taunts and viles.

Could there be a world to fit her soul?

For a single woman playing multiple roles,

Her flight is beyond the cage high up in the sky,

So that even the terrain before hindering

Falls shy,

No day can be allotted to define her play,

But a reminder of a chauvinist to abstain from her way.