The Opera Glasses

Behind the windows’ and the walls,
There were two eyes that saw it all,
Days turned into nights, nights into days,
Through the small gaps of the sash,
She watched the passerby go with fast steps,
Even some passengers on the cart going,

She watched them day and again,
Through her opera glasses, in her solitude,
A wife of a rich man who had no time,
For her young wife, she weaved and stitched,
On handkerchiefs and all, to let out distress,
And her hollowness, she had friends,

In number and few, for they all women,
And no men, she never knew how it was to,
Have a man-friend, until one day a lad came,
She liked him, he was an acquaintance,
To her husband, in her loveless life he brought,
Hope, stirring the honey of love in her heart,

The feudal time it was, love forbidden,
From man out of marriage, but heart!
Ever innocent and longing for love,
Couldn’t win again, her feet chained,
In that elite hearth, which was just a roof,
No heart, she had no love, making love either,
Charulatha the lonely wife of time,
Charulatha the lonely wife of life,

Like fall too, he is gone, alone again,
Behind those windows and walls,
That limits her from the men and all,
She has learnt to console her broken heart,
A settlement made with situation,
She still hold those opera glasses,

And peer from behind, the only freedom,
She has in her times, seldom I feel,
I have lived the life of Charulatha,
Charulatha the lonely wife, me a lonely,
Soul! At times wandering in my past,
Looking for those opera glasses which I never had.