a flower crushed..

Under the amaltas tree

The yellow blossoms

Adorned a little bride

In an innocent childhood game

of marrying the boy next door.

She clasped his pudgy fingers

amidst marigold confetti,

simulated the sacred satapadi

around the flaming pile

of deep gulmohar fire.

Now lying by his side,

Watching the sky turn red

And lilac and indigo,

She weaved her dreams

In floral patterns

of cherished hopes and

joyous future.

Night now and reluctantly

giving up her playmate’s company

she walked back home

chasing the glow worms

when those rapine hands

snatched away her childhood

crushed the petals

pilfered her dreams

outraged her modesty

violated the flower

of her being...

- Neha Bansal