Her Story

I could see those beady eyes Pale and half closed. Forever She was in the bed of his care. Like a bird in a basket. Pleats Of her saree have grown upto Her neck, choking her and she Forgot dreaming about good Old days passed by the hearth. She has felt the pain between Her strong thighs more than Six times and laughed as a Lunatic tied to the legs of a cot. Nothing has changed since. The iron door of customs did Not make her to feel free and She enjoyed bathing under the Sun ogling through fresh leafs.