(Photo by Manuel Schinner )
She sat cautiously in her mom’s armchair.
Playing lovingly, with her pretty brown hair.
She watched herself in the reflecting mirror.
No, it yet can’t detect the sign of her grave error.
She wondered how she broke that purity’s cage.
What was she, but a girl of sixteen in age?
She shivered as she kept on the womb her hand,
Her heart pumped more with the hour-glass’s falling sand.
Mom, dad, relatives; what will the people say?
How long will she hide it?
Not year! But months or just days?
She knows now her existence will get all wildly whirled.
Yes. She is ready to face the worst of both worlds.
She isolated herself, shun all company away.
She is painfully aware of what is coming her way.
Her eyelids dropped giving way to tears.
And her brain presented to her soul, it’s fears.
What will she do? She can think of nothing.
Life has set a tough question paper and she knows nothing.
There she sees the master’s bright plans in front.
Will he be with her if this news he confronts?
She can’t make it out, can’t judge his mind.
She’ll never bother him, she’ll never let him find.
She clinged close to her blanket warm.
She felt in her body, something was taking a form.
Lonely and sad, songs sweet she hums.
Again bringing thoughts of him, of whom this creation has come.
He is not aware of this, neither she wants him to know.
Spoil his living for my sake? Never. She says it’s a no.
She sings of great pain, she sings solitude’s song.
She must take it alone, she is the proof of the wrong.
Along with all thoughts, a cruel word appears-KILL.
My lord give your grace! She can never destroy what she feels.
She won’t even take any rough insecure movement.
Now all her plans will be for the “something’s ” improvement.
She knows this is hell, she’ll lose all her self.
But she can’t hurt it now, it’s a part of herself.
Despite the matchless loss, the ever-increasing pain;
She is focused on the result, on the sacred living gain.
She is naive and scared, but can she help it?
Life has begun within her, now she can’t help it.
In the garden of her home, flowers of every hue bloom.
Then why motherhood say, gives her so much gloom?
Her eyes know it well, enchanting carpet on the earth’s bosom.
Oh lovely they are! Those bewitching blossoms!
Life given a chance to live, what a splendid worthy job it is!
How much more will a soul provide, if a soul-less life gives so much bliss.
She now stood to pray, to ask for support.
“Lord”, she said, “Be my comfort.”
She was not same now, she was a lady another.
Or she was yet a little girl but also a mother.
(Pallavi D. Patel)
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