Tears in her big and bold eyes, vermilion on her radiant forehead.
Draped in a red saree, henna all over her hand.
A beautiful smile on her bright face, bangles jingling away.
Dazzling with a glow, she enters the doorpost of what she thinks is her new abode.
The world ahead of the doorpost, magnanimous and pure.
Little did she know, the bangles in her hands that she did adore,
Were nothing but handcuffs and the bountiful home, her prison.
The eyes that once dreamed and sparkled, are now dry and deceived.
Vermilion intact, down and down her forehead weighed.
If only her marriage was an incarnation of her dream,
The vermilion and bangles would have been her strength,
And the prison, her royal regime.
What happens when women write? Well we rewrite the world! Dreamer, thinker, amateur writer and an engineering undergraduate pursuing B.tech from Delhi Technological University.