She was a girl.
She was a girl,
Wrapped in the four walls of the jail she called home when she was supposed to fly high along the sunset hues.
She then became teenager,
Tainted in red when she was supposed to paint the sky with blue.
A young adult,
And was taught to cook, clean, be a good wife for somebody she hadn't even seen.
She was snatched of the lives she could have lived.
Snatched of her freedom to think.
She then became woman,
And she was told to adjust.
To leave the house she grew up in
To leave her everything in the click of a finger.
Her life confined between the wants of her husband and the cries of her children.
And admist the chaos of her limits.
She often looked out the window,
At the birds flying.
And thought what it would have been like, if she too, could fly.
©️theindiandewdrop, 2026
