Neelam pens a poignant poem that is related to the shocking and gruesome custom of shaving the head of the widows and sending them to holy places. A Different
At sixteen married,
At seventeen widowed;
Before I learnt what is life,
My existence has been hollowed!
I am only a teen
And love I would to dance and sing;
My unseen husband’s death
Has plucked out all my zing!
The vibrancy replaced by white,
My head shaved, all hair gone;
The lanes of my life,
Murky and forlorn!
As I sit on the steps
Of the ghats of this city holy;
I wonder why I was born,
What had I done to get this life ghastly?
Packed off by my parents,
After all, I was only a daughter!
Discarded by in-laws, I lie here,
In front of the Lord’s altar!
Watch I the reflection
Of my tattered self in the river,
My past appears as a mystery
And my future, a blur!
©Neelam Saxena Chandra
Photo from the Internet
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