She and her curiosity always stayed indoors.
Her heart trapped behind the bars inside the wooden doors.
Her soul traveled miles even if she did not move an inch.
The desires pricked her like the thorns of the cactus making her flinch!
She was as lonely as the Cactus plant and the deserted street.
She needed permission to sit or squat or to just stand on her feet.
The Cactus still had the pot and the floor as companions.
She was unwanted and inside the doors buried were her passions!
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If she boldly stepped out of the door any time of the day,
She had to face the wrath of the master who would love to fray.
Her child hood, youth and women hood are all seamless.
For she knew only slave-hood which was always loveless!
Slavery to “men” whom she feared to accept or deny.
Slavery to the beasts and their erotic desires which made her cry.
Behind those closed doors painted blue she was beaten black and blue.
There was no one to understand her blues even if she gave a cue.
To sing or dance or to even talk to some other is an offense.
Even to think of thinking of her tiniest wishes she always had to pretense.
The doors and the floor were cleaned and even the Cactus was fed.
She was the most used commodity in that house which is thrashed till it bled.
She eagerly used to watch the road as if to meet a human outside the bars.
She used to dream of the moment when she would finally fly and reach the stars.
A smile used to dance on her lips by the mere thought of an escapade.
She knew it was just her dream which slowly would submerge and fade!
She dreaded the evenings when her master would return and bang the door.
If she looked beautiful he would doubt her and call her a whore.
She got used to the treatment and tears dried up and cries became muffled.
Even if she felt sick, vomited or fainted the master remained unruffled!
Her sullen face and bloodied breasts hide in darkness and in shame.
She lives every passing day with a beastly monster who she cannot tame.
She counts her days only to die and leave the hell to travel to the heaven’s gate.
She wants to question the God and know what she did to meet this fate!!
Today I am very sad. When ever I read news like this – “The Eight year old who didnt make it past her wedding night” I shudder , feel sick to the stomach , feel extremely helpless!
This post is in response to Write Tribe Prompt #2