Stories untold, wrapped in pain, Maybe wild, maybe shed in rain
What was her dream when she was six?
Was it not to fight the hardest fit of life?
Or just to have a roof above?
A bundle of clothes, a touch of love?
Or maybe just a happy meal ?
A day where peace felt real ..
Maybe she just wished to be a happy girl.
Maybe,
Her mixed bangles whisper,
“She survived heaven and hell !”
Her beads murmur,
“Stories of poison and cure !”
Her wrinkles tell,
“The strength of survival !”
