Her Story

A sudden timidity,

A fifth-standard jolly child,

Becoming shy forever...

Society casualled it,

"Maybe her first menses."

But deep within the girl knew,

Through what she had gone,

However, how could she speak?

For social stitches did exist.

She wanted to voice her pain,

Lest not a listener to beckon,

Inside the known chambers,

Her mother seemed unknown to her,

"Social ties plagued her mind too."

She thought of her (mother).

For what an outsider did,

An innocent girl was blamed,

Growing a stranger in four corners,

She cursed herself,

Every second she breathed.

But, she had another compulsion,

After all suicide—a social taboo,

Would demean her parents,

Crush their reputation,

In that case,

What would she do?

Being devoid of any answer,

She bottled it all,

And reasoned herself,

"Born in a virtual 21st century and in the wrong place."

She wore covered clothes,

Society remarked, "Old-fashioned."

"Old is Gold", she replied,

For she had no choice,

But to mask her scars,

From the hungry eyes.

Under a maroon lipbalm,

A mouth was slit,

People named it,

"Her first kiss."

Who knew the whipped wounds,

Behind the collared neck,

That the big-dialed watch,

Concealed a man's imprint...

Perfect at hiding,

She got no justice,

All she knew,

Was to live,

With what a man had selfishly gifted.