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