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  • Nandini Sengupta

The Door


Escaping through the traverse

of the ever flourishing mustard field,

her tired soles no more

feel the rough texture of the

rolling dry land;

the field has not yet been watered,

her bleeding toes

know no bounds of

her ever approaching steps

gliding through the

winds of the yellow land,

she pauses for a while-

turns back at

the life she left far off.

The dwindling image

of the man her parents

chose to marry her off,

standing near his hut

made of mud and straw,

her would-be-groom

kept staring in awe.

She never knew she could

come this far-

her trembling feet and arms

could perceive her inner fears,

her skipping heartbeat

uttered a subdued cheer.

Escaped she has

after years of slavery

of her ever invincible soul,

the chains no more

could entwine her in roles.

She left them all at the

steps of her house that was,

as she opens the Door

to her awaited vision in ardour.


By Nandini Sengupta

@metaphors_of_life












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