WOMEN: THE WARRIORS FOR LIFE

Credit: Parikshit Sinha

It is difficult, is it not,

To take the battle head-on,

With the prejudice of this wretched world,

Where you are labeled with an “-ist”,

And called a follower of an “-ism”,

Even though what you ask,

Is something you should always have,

Is something you should have never lost.

You battle everyday, with the ills of society,

Getting scarred mentally, everyday, each day.

Yet you tuck-in your child with a smiling face,

And go back to bed with a consciousness,

That there’s another battle,

At the break of the day.

So I bow to you mother,

I bow to you sister,

I bow to all the brave women,

Out there,

Because you all indeed have,

A concealed Goddess Durga in yourself.

©onerandompoet

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The Ignored Light

Source:Pixabay Trapped in a box, Of "know your place", I find my voice lost, In that deep ocean of internal struggle. I see the melting wax, I see the burning wick, But lost is the light, In the rays of a bulb. A light which would shine, A light which would bring smile, In dark houses and small alleys, I see it battling each day, With hope to win someday. Powerless, I stare at the flame with hope, Praying at the same time, For it to win someday, For it to win every day. ©onerandompoet

Homeless

M ore often than not, He finds himself lost, In the middle of the day, In the middle of a thought, Staring blankly out of the window, At the blue sky, With patches of cloud. In the midst of these blank stares, Comes dreaded thoughts, Often leaving him wondering, About the future, Effect of the past. Having fought the battles over time, He knows there’s always a change to fight, There’s always a chance to be a hero, He wonders, Or a prisoner of war! And more often than not, He finds himself feeling, Like a prisoner of war, With battle scars imprinted for life, He finds himself locked behind bars, Of the past that now blinds the future. The question in his mind pinches every-time, Will he ever have the courage again? Will he ever find someone? Someone who’d listen? Someone to call, Home! © onerandompoet

THERE'S A COFFIN IN MY HEART

There's a coffin in my heart, With a dead soul inside, He awakens like vampire, Betrayal is his garlic, And a hint of care is the only blood he seeks. He once was a healthy soul, A soul unlike any, He cheered for others and loved so many, Listened to the griefs, absorbing agony, Made them smile, eased on the worry. Yet he sleeps with pain and cries in agony, Being a dead soul is of help? Not any. He still seeks the blood of care, But fears betrayal. So he lives a lonely life, Desolation in his mind, Putting a smile to the world, full of lies, Hiding the darkness within, with a fake smile. There's a coffin in my heart, With a dead soul inside, He awakens like a vampire, But keeps on dying.

ONERANDOMPOET

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