She speaks volumes,
Blacker than charcoal, she ain’t see through,
With weak strands of white hair—
Courtesy of my Grandma.

She falls out when a comb rakes through.
She doesn’t dance with the wind,
Instead, she rebels against it,
A protester standing her ground against authority.

She stays silent even in pain.
Even when malnourished,
She doesn’t beg for food.
Just stays quiet, keeping it in
Till it’s too much and she begins to break
Strand by strand, withering away
… And I go bald!