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Jenish  Jul 2020
Bangles
Jenish Jul 2020
I was on a plantain branch
Cra cra… Cra cra.. Craa..
She put her bangles on a rock
Cra cra… Cra cra.. Craa..
Glimpse of gold, shined my eyes
Cra cra… Cra cra.. Craa..
I took it and flew back home
Cra cra… Cra cra.. Craa..
A cry of fury trembling hut,
I wonder why she made that fuss.
With a bit of twinge I shout,
“One I took, three with you!”
Still her rage in frenzy mood,
Crowd is fanning flames to grow,
In my nest it shine and rest,
Golden bangles shining lust.
Then I went back looking around,
To watch the jokers in a run,
But my eyes in surprise hunt,
The bustle of hut in deep slumber.
Oh! Again this gold will turn
me a golden queen of crows.
Another bangle on the rock,
I took it and flew back home.
What a foolish bird I’m!
Fallen on their tricky trap.
They found my nest and climbed up tree,
My two bangles went with them.
Geno Cattouse Oct 2013
Joe of to the poky.
Joe off to the pen.

Joe of the  ***** wagon again and again.
Joe  fit shased and sailing, three sheets to the wind.

Joe swearing and cussing.
Joe  in the back seat.

Joe sits on  wrists. fingers all numb.
Joe tossin his cookies. Joe real  no count ***.

Joe know all the coppers
And breaks in the rookies.

"Hey rook" asks Joe " "can you loosen these up"
My hands been asleep since Henry was a pup.

Joe Bangles they call him and erbody knows.
That Joey cant get lit up  and keep on his clothes.

Institutional homeboy.
Going back to the house.

Three hots and a cot.
and wild  stories to tell.

slippers and tooth brush in an eight by ten cell.

Mr. Joe Bangles Dance.
The guy we all know or have seen in one form or another.
Stainless steel bangles are accessory of choice.
Sam Y Starlight  Dec 2015
Bangles
Sam Y Starlight Dec 2015
Molten glass molded Into a perfect circle,
Tinted with the shades of twilight;
- Lustrous lilac, blushing pink and pastel purple -
Embellished with shimmering stars, stolen from 
 the night

I gently slide them on my fragile wrist
reminiscing what he had once promised;
Like the roundness of these graceful bangles,
His love for me shall remain endless

They've heard me pray to the
Almighty
they've been kissed by the tears I've cried
Their clinking and jingling have always soothed
me
calling out his name when my eyes had dried.

A girls best friend may be diamonds
mine are these precious bangles
They've been the voice of my silent lips
And twirled at the touch of my fingertips
Sitting in a bangle box, waiting for me patiently
*They will greet me again, merrily.
Miss Saitwal Jul 2018
That workaholic lady who's always on call,
keeping up with the market fall.
That newly married lady with chunky red bangles,
returning to her father's big castles.

That person who's scared to get lapse,
so stays active on the google maps.
That person who swings like a kid at the back door,
Or the one who perform calisthenics on an empty floor.

That next door girl with a red lipstick,
flicking her shinny hair & gossiping with her clique,

That dreamer gazing outside the window,
That overworked soul dozing on his elbow.

That 21st century kid,
listening to Eminem & playing video games.
Or That 90’s kid,
listening to Jenga Boys & playing outdoor games.

That banker with a big fat stomach,
filled with his beautiful wife’s love.
That lady who eats like a thief,
in her big fat bag hiding a beef.

That old man who can’t stand Bombay's winding turns.
That granny spotting & criticing  every fashion trends.
That man who has Raju Rastogi’s concerns,
thinking & chanting for earns & returns.

Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in a battlefield,
in the still crowd surpassing like electrons into a magnetic field.

That lady sitting under cold seat like a glacial,
than standing with 7kgs in a crowded central,
& tryna stay sane listening to George Michael.

That geek who switchs from Linkedin to Arjun Reddy,
when the masses flee into the scenery.
That trader crunching numbers so rapidly,
when the stock prices go down hourly.

That person on the last seat,
diagressing from work & gazing around,
soaking in her pashmina, with a career newfound.
Gaye  Nov 2015
glass bangles
Gaye Nov 2015
I remember her as a little girl walking into a classroom with pigtails and a hand full of green glass bangles, today she is the bride and her smile breaks the reality of adulthood and powerlessness of human life to run back as children.
She is getting married.
Dark Holes  Jun 2014
Bangles
Dark Holes Jun 2014
Bangles are my jam
Please walk like an Egyptian
Right into my heart
VENUS62 Jul 2014
Swaymvar- Wedding! With Translation in English

Kavi, tha khayalon me khoya
Dard-e -dil soch ke roya

Tab Apsara sundarsi hui prakat
Ahista se gayee Kavi ke nikat

Likhte kyun ** kavita hamesha udaas
Racho koi rachna jisme ** harsh-o- ulhas

Ghatne wali hai ghatna avismarniya
Reh jayega baki sub kuch asmarniya

Aney wali hai baraat aaj raat
Yahi kuch gyarah- barah baje ke baad

Chaand ke saath hogi chandni
Sitare layenge jhilmil roshni

Indra layenge varsha ko saath
Varun ayenge thamey badalon ka haath

Suraj layenge bas kiran ek
Teeno mil sajayenge indradhanush anek


Draupadi ke saath honge punch pandav
Shiv bhi karenge nritya tandav

Agni khud karenge havan
Halka sa jhonka denge Pavan

Patton se banegi chudiyan hari
Maang mein mitti hogi lal sindoori

Aasman mein cha jayega kala-neela sa rang
Krishna jab nachenge radha ke sang

Rachegi khoob ras leela wahan
Dekha na hoga kabhi ye jahan

Pakwan har ek hoga anvesh
Bhojan hoga bahut hi vishesh

Srishti banegi ati ati -sundar
Rachegi jab
Ambar aur dharti ka swayamvar!



Translation The Wedding!
The poet was lost in thought
Heartbroken and distraught

When appeared an Apsara ethereal
She touched his shoulder lightly

Why do you write poems full of sorrow
Do write some poems replete with joy

About to happen is an event memorable
Everything else will be forgettable

The bridegroom will ride on a chariot light
Around eleven-twelve tonight

The moon will swing in with his moonlight
The stars will twinkle on their own shining bright

Indra will bring along the rains
Varun will hold the clouds in rein

The sun will be present as a single ray
The trio will create a rainbow array

Draupadi will come with five pandav
Shiv will swirl to his Dance Tandav

Agni himself will do the Havan
Gentle breeze will be supplied by Pavan

The bangles will be made from leaves green
The color of the earth will be vermilon red

The sky will be decked in black and blue
When Krishna will dance with Radha his beloved true

There will be celebrations lavish
Mortals will be left in disbelief

The food will indeed be delectable
Each dish will be a creative spectacle!

Creation will be at her very best
When the earth and sky
will be in their union blessed.
Kiernan Norman Oct 2012
I
There is a 3% chance I'll find you here. But if in each pair of eyes I dip, I find 1/8 of you; I'll be there soon.

II
I didn't crawl here; I took a plane. I spent six hours tracing the Atlantic from my window and you rose from the sea, dry and unsalted, twice each nautical mile. I would say it was my imagination, or the California wine, but I wear glasses now and never lie about what I see. It was you. And you and you and you.


III
Stealing is easier here. Maybe it's the crowds or the way the men smile at me like I'm harmless, but my hands move without question. They don't fumble or miss pockets, my heartbeat doesn't even protest. In prayer beads, silkworm cocoons, oils and sea rings, I am in debt to a city who doesn't know it.


IV
I have no ethnicity. Deep in bone coils the apathy and flight of someone's non-heritage. But I am forgiven; in a world of paranoia, brown eyes are always trusted and the way my hair falls reminds them that I'm on their side. Even my name curls within itself, folded flat and dead before it's over. It's better this way; no allegiance, no responsibility.

V
From a curb in district nine, I see your star. It's hanging where you said it would be but I can't see god in it the way you promised.

VI
On the other side of the world you told me about a quad of green. You waxed flowers of every color, the sky I've only ever painted and the people, beautiful and dark, who will save me. I found it. In broken French and broken sandals I found it and the sun was setting and you had just left. So now we both know you won't be the one to save me.

VII
With one foot in the slanting gutter I walk until the city circles and I'm back where I started. In a daydream I found you. I smiled and quoted your book, the part that said 'When we heard the guidance, we believed in it' and you looked at me in a way that scared me. A way that translated your face into thousands of alphabets, ancient and invented. And I knew none of them. Suddenly I'm illiterate to you. Suddenly I'm gone.

VIII
I'm with a man who's made of smoke and each strawberry ring that escapes my lips is dedicated to someone that I’ve laughed with.

IX
With the intensity of archives on fire, I withdraw. You are still a body; a few hundred bones calcified and aging, a mind of words streaming like spider webs, blood you never shed, and  muscles that cross in blinding precision, but you are not who you used to be. You bound to me in a way that's irreversible and now we're both stitching. Awkward and broken we pull at flesh to remove each other. We have scars now, like stickers ripped from wallpaper. The outline of a palm stains my shoulder, a thumb the size of yours in the crook of my elbow. Small, white fingerprints tattoo your neck.


X
I might be free. Over cobble stones with broken sandals I don't trip until I realize that a city where I loved is now part of me. I can get as far away from her as the modern map allows but the red and gold bangles that crowd my wrists are not to be taken off. They're a part of me too. Like blood spilled on a cobble stone, you will walk over us every day of your life.
written January 2008. Seventeen.
Kuzhur Wilson Sep 2013
My poetry, which knew it was
the cry of a lonely bird
on a solitary tree
in my village,
asked Spring its name.

Spring began to speak –

The fruit laden Vayyankatha, her thorny pangs, hijab-wearing  Guf, her minarets, Thondi  blushing red with kisses,  her moist lips, orphaned Adalodakam, Nellippuli in a polka dotted dress, Pulivakawaiting for the breeze, Anjili   head towards the south, yawning Cherupuuna, Pera with the names of grandmas scribbled on her leaves, Ilantha blowing into the hearth, Ilapongu rubbing his eyes, Irippa, Atha laughing noisily,Cholavenga in tattered clothes, Irumbakam, Padappa catching his breath after running, Pattipunna wagging his tail, bare footed Pattuthali, Thekku the noblest among them, Thekkotta, Neervalam  recollecting her last birth, Neeraal, sobbing Neelakkadambu, Pathimukam, lazy thanal murikku, Karimaruthu, Karinkura, Asttumayil, Velladevaram, Kattukadukka, the gluttonous Badam, amnesiac Vazhanna, boredVarachi, Nangmaila, Eucalyptuswith a sprained back, viscous red Rakthachandanam, saffron robed Rudraksham, Vakka, Vanchi,  Parangimaavu nostalgic of his ancestral home, Vari, Nedunaar, Marotti with a hundred offsprings, Malangara, Malampunna ,Nenmeni Vaka trying his luck in a lottery, Nelli with a sour smile.

Kadaplaavu doing sketches with leaves, Kari straying from the queue, Kattuthuvara buying things on credit, Kattutheyila boiling over, Kattupunna with a pus-oozing sore, Kumkumam putting a bindi on her forehead, starving Ventheku, Vellakadambu making a missed call, Kattadi standing aloof, her feeble hands,  flowering Ilanji, her fragrant trunk, sighing Aalmaram, Pachavattil, Pachilamaram  gossiping with the chameleon, Panachi,Pamparakumbil, Kadambu memories adorning her head, Kudamaram carrying provisions for the home,  Punnappa,Poongu, gray hairedChuruli, Chuvannakil  singing a folk song, dark skinned Vattil, Kulaku, Karinjaaval, sozzled Pamparam, Chorappayir, njama, Njaaval  tempting the birds, Njaara, Alasippooscratching his palm, Ashokam  humming a sad song.

Ezhilampala chewing on a masala paan, Peenaari wearing a tie, Peelivaka, Pulichakka with a broken leg, Pezhu demanding his wages, Kumbil, Kurangaadi, Kasukka with a dislocated elbow,Valiyakaara, Vallabham, Chavandi, stunning Chinnakil , Chittal with a failed brake, Vidana, Sheemappanji, the loan shark Odukku, Oda  on musth,fatherless Kadakonna, childlessShimshapa, Sindooram with a flushed face, Karinthakara singing the thannaaro, Vellappayir high on grass, Poothilanji showing off her blossoms, sour faced Kudampuli.

Wet in the rain Kulamaavu, Kudamaavu circling around himself, Pari from the netherworld,Poopathiri in a priest’s robe,  Poochakadambu on all fours, Kulappunna covered in a blanket, Kundalappala checking his astro forecast, Pachotti, ******* Perumaram, Perumbal  thinking of the sea, phlegm clogged Anathondi, Anakkotti, Cheruthuvara, Ilavangam, Thanni,naughty Thirukkalli,  Karappongu, embracing Kattadi, Thudali, Thelli, Kara, Malayathi,Malavirinji, shameless Kashumaavu,mud slinging Karuka, Vedinal, suicide prone Attumaruthu,Attuvanchi  who glides on the stream like a fallen shadow.

Mandaram  dressed in white, Vanna, brazen Mahagani, Karivelam doing the accounts,Jakarantha, Koombala, friendless Koovalam, Kattukamuku with his hands around friends, Kolli, Paruva,Krishnanaal with a crooked smile, Cocoa with no one to turn to, Cork,Palakapayyani, Pavizhamalli wearing necklace and bangles, a lonely Mazhamaram, Mangium, Mathalam exposing her *******, Chemmaram, Pashakottamaram, Malavembu, tearful Chamatha, Vatta, Vattakoombitired of running around, smoking Pine, Porippovanam, Kaaluvnthatherakam, Thembaavu, grinningDantaputri, Narivenga, Navathi, grumbling Mazhukkanjiram,Arayanjili,  Arayal playing a game with the wind.

Choola kissing the sizzling wind, Arinelli, Maavu reciting sadly the poem Mampazham,  Chandana vembu, Peraal stretching its back, Pulivaaka, Unnam, Naythanbakam,Karpooram in a slow glow, Naaykumbil, trumpeting Pongu, outcast Pottavaaka, bursting Poriyal, vagabond Ponthavaaka, Plaavu lost in some thought, Pootham  head covered , Ethappana  greening while yellowing, Manjadi, Mullanvenga, Mullilam lifting his dhoti to expose his genitals, Mullilavu hopping around, Moongappezhu, Neermaruthu saying enough is enough, withered Neermathalam ,Moottikkay, Ithi, Ithiyaal, Vella velam, Kalppayir, Kallar, Majakkadambu singing a lullaby, Choondappana wary of fish bones.

Stooping Punna, Matti scared of her big brother, Paarijaatham watching the midnight movie, Paalakal, Paali,Paarakam doing cartwheels, Viri, Athi showing off  her seeds,Ampazhammassaging his chest, Ayani inlove with her son, Manjakkonna, Manjamandaram in search of something, Chullithi with eyes closed, Kallilavu like an oozing rock, Malamandaram eyeing the vultures,Velleetti cursing the thunder, Venga,Veppu, Vraali, Akil, sighing Acacia,Balsa, Blanka, Beedimaram with a rattling cough,  Agasthi, Cherukonna with a sheepish smile, Kambali, woundedNagamaram.

Pathiri, touching his forehead to the ground, his eyes heavenward, Ankolam ruined by debts,Kattumarotti, Kundalappala, Aattumaruthu,Poovam, Erumanaakku, Karingotta, Vediplaavu his salary still unpaid, Venmurikku, Manjanaathi, Manimaruthu jolted awake, Mathagirivembu, Karaanjili  escorting his daughter, Karakongu,Karappongu, Ilippa on her way back, Ooravu half-awake after a dream and with a sucker smile, Ennappana about to immolate himself, fattened  Ennappine,Azhantha waiting for someone, Chorapatri with a cracked head,Sheemappoola,Poovankara, Malampuli, Puli with sharpened stakes.

Obese Theettipplaavu,Malambongu, Chorimathimurikku, Irippa bailing out his friend, Irumbakamwho lost his job, Kunkumappoo, Karinthaali, Scoot, Rose Kadambu, Aamathali, Aarampuli,Attilippucaught in the crowd, Irul  blessed by the elders, Vellavatti, whistling Mula, Kattukonna in a hat, Kaniiram learning the alphabets, broker Cheru,Kattuchembakam exposing his arm pit,Thandidiyan, Neeroli, Ezhachembakam waiting for her bus, Karimbana in a newly constructed house, Karivenga,Karivali writing a poem, Ungu in a baby frock, Udi, Plasha, Elamaruthupromising to meet later, Chembakam dying to hug.

Vellakil who bathes the kids, Vellavaaka who forgot his umbrella, Attuthekku who failed the exam, lustful Aattunochi,Malanthudali with her legs spread, Malanthengu with chest ****** up,Malamanchadi who is learning to count, Malambarathi exposing her *******, intoxicated Aval, Arana reciting the poem Karuna, insane Alakku who dashes off to the temple, Cheru who cannot stop washing clothes, Kudappana ready to elope, irreligious Jaathi, Silver Oak laughing boisterously, Kattuveppu waiting for the kids, Sumami ******* on a toffee, annoyed Parappoola,frightened Pinar, Ithi stopping her ears at swear words, Ithiyal with lots of smiles, Kovidaram with music in his mind, Ilakkali showing her belly, blossoming Ilavu, Chadachi who ***** sadistically, cool fingered Chandanam.

dominating Charakkonna, office going Cheelanthi, Gulgulu glued to Kochu channel, Gulmohur with dyed hair, Irul with a fuming face, early rising Kanikonna, Kanala who has a sound sleep, Karingali  who pees standing, Kambakam with an ***** *****, Kallavi  beseeching to stuff her up, Karanjili  quivering in lust, calm Karaal, Kaari who hums while *******, Kaavalam who naps after the toil,Thannimaram showing off her petals, Thambakam kissing the ****, Thellipayar savouring a *****,Neerkurunda in post-****** languor, Malaya breastfeeding her kid, bullying Kathi, mad hat Eetti,Cheeni  not remembering his mom,  Kunnivaka showing his gums, Kuppamanja who laughs in sleep, Othalanga swallowing poison, blooming Poovarasu.

Spring went on,
reeling off names to me.
The rain the sun the wind and the cold
Rolled in one after the other.
Spring kept pulling out
names from its memory.

People got scared of
my poetry gone wild.
They stopped passing that way.

A snake goes slithering away.
A hare finds its own path and dashes away.
A poothankiri, from a bush, flies away.



(Trans from Malayalam by Ra Sh)
1.      Mampazham (Ripe Mango) is the title of a famouspoem by Vyloppilli.
2.      Karuna (Compassion) is the title of a long poemby Kumaran Asan.
3.      Poothankiri – A white headed babbler.
4.      Thanaaro - An obscene devotional song.
Prathipa Nair Jun 2016
Lost in his thoughts
With her eyes closed
Waking up from her fancy
By the call of a pigeon
With a message from him
Conveying to meet him
Near the river side
Of the Gulmohar tree
Hearing the trumpet of
The evening conch

With an acceptable smile
Ready in his favourite
Shining peach fruit dress
Wide eyes with black kajal
Long black hair decorated
With magical fragrance
Of buds of jasmine flowers
Colourful bangles filling
Her soft wheatish hands
With musical bands

Sitting under the flame tree
Decorated with beautiful
Orange-red Gulmohar petals
Waiting for her beloved
Lasting the wait till dawn
But never did he come
Flowing kajal with her tears
Turning her to black cheeks
Back to her despondency
Like a broken soul

Comes again the pigeon
With a message on its body
Written by human blood
Dear, move on in your life
I am, no more in this life
Jasmines giving an odour
Bangles becoming colourless
Kajal, blurring her vision
Falling down on the floor
With her eyes closing !
pixels Sep 2012
lightning bolt earrings;
bangles jangle on dark wrists:
an urban Gypsy.
Aarya  Oct 2015
The Morning After
Aarya Oct 2015
The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.
I splashed myself with cold water, and walked over to my dollhouse kitchen to make a cup of hot green tea in my favorite green ceramic mug. I cut myself avocados, laid them across my toast, and sprinkled it with pepper. My brother was still asleep, his covers crumpled under half his body and a leg hanging off the edge. He was dreaming of his favorite thing about the previous day, and that made me smile, as I tucked him back under the protection of his blanket.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love.
Not once, but many times. Not with one person, but with multiple. I fell in love with my mom and the way she looked like the happiest woman in the world when she laughed at us, and how from sitting behind her in the car it looked as if she was always smiling because her cheekbones were so high. I fell in love with the way she wiped her eyes with the top of her wrist, as the steam and aroma from the hot food she cooked, floated upwards. I fell in love with my dad and the way he walked through the backyard, moving his hands around as he played out important discussions in his head. I fell in love with my brother and the way he tried to talk to us about CNN news at over the dinner table every night. I fell in love with the way he would impatiently say my name as his eyes lit up, wanting to tell me something that excited him, or that he found funny. I fell in love with a little girl I caught dancing with her sister outside 85, on the way back from my math class. I fell in love with the curly-haired boy in my English class my freshman year, who sheepishly told me he switched back and forth from British and American accents from time to time, because it was just something that was a part of him. I fell in love with my best friend and the way she got so passionate about the importance of history and what she learned from her AP history class, over a Skype call after midnight. I fell in love with everyone I ever met, and saw them as entire galaxies, complex and burning bright yet simple at the same time. Because people are beautiful. People are beautiful.

The morning after I killed myself, I recognized kindness.
I recognized it when there were more than one million words in the English language to choose from, but every time, my neighbors chose the kindest ones. I recognized it in the mother I saw sitting outside the café on a bench, running her elegant fingers through her teenage daughter’s hair, who was telling her about her worries. I recognized it when a homeless lady gave another homeless man all the money she had made that day, simply because he had a daughter to feed. I found kindness in my friend when she ran to the Starbucks across the street to comfort a woman she did not know who was crying after her autistic son had a tantrum.

The morning after I killed myself, I took a walk.
I sauntered along the street, and I saw the bright green leaves of the sugar gum trees, that in a few months would turn gold and orange. The birds were chirping their warbling melodies, and the cool air was feeding my lungs. The sun was still rising, and the sky had a little bit of orange in one corner, and a little bit of pink in another. I sat down on the bleachers of my school, and waited for the sunrise to unfold.

The morning after I killed myself, I held my beautiful grandma’s hands.
I felt how small and cold they were, but what warmth they still preserved as her fingers tightly held mine. My fingers grazed the top of fists, the bumpy veins giving them a delicate texture. I saw the four golden bangles she had never taken off of her left wrist, and I wondered how many dishes those hands had washed, how many clothes they had folded, and how many meals they had made.

The morning after I killed myself, I watched a live symphony.
I sat dazed, in view of the wine-red instruments in front of me, from the contented mold of my chair. I listened to the beautiful wavelengths of sound being produced right in front of me, the music creating my sanctuary. The conductor created the loudest expression of music on stage, despite making no sound. His arms waved as wildly as the sea, but was no less graceful than an ebbing tide. I looked at the depth of the basses, the elegance of the cellos, the poise of the violins, and the dignity of the viola. The fingers of the cellists slid up and down, the strings undulating with every phrase. A pulse was beating within my own veins, and as long the piece lasted, I was the music.

The morning after I killed myself, I looked in the mirror.
I saw my almond-shaped eyes, and how my eyelashes outlined them perfectly. I saw the vertebrae of my spine, and how they looked like a line of marbles, across my back. I saw the curls on the top of my head that I’d hated when I was younger, because they stuck out as if I had my own atmosphere around my head. I saw my knuckles, and how they separated into mountains and valleys. I saw the beauty mark on my left ankle, and the dimple that formed when I smiled. I looked in the mirror, and I finally fell in love with what I saw.

The morning after I killed myself, I tried to get back.
I tried to talk sense into a girl who had made a horrible mistake. I told her about the avocados, and the valleys and mountains that appeared every time she crumpled her fists. I told her about how beautiful her mom was when she laughed, and how warm it felt to hold her grandma’s hands. I told her about how her brother said he always dreamt about his favorite thing about the previous day, and how her friends had so much kindness in them. I told her about the green leaves scattered over the ground, and the pink parts of sunsets. I told her about the orchestra where she would find peace, and the shy boy who switched accents.

May your tea be just the right temperature when you take a sip, and may you happen to glance through the window just when the rays of light are falling perfectly. May you lock eyes with someone just as they send you a warm smile, and may you turn on the radio just as your favorite song starts. May you love the ink pen you pick up, as it glides across paper smoothly, and may you pick up a novel to read that changes your thoughts on something important.
Inspired by Meggie Royer's "The Morning After I Killed Myself"
Sapien May 2016
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, not thinking anything and just staring. A few minutes later she took a deep breath and opened the drawer. Took out a box and observed it for quite long.
She took out a blood red lip colour and began to apply. While applying the lipstick she remembered how exciting was dressing up was to her when she was a child. This red colour was much brighter to her than now. These bangles were much more fascinating than what they are now. She recalled the days when she uses to stole her mother's makeup kit, She recalled how her mother used to beat up as if she had committed any sin.
Her eyes were much sparkling when she was a little kid, Now even the coal pencil cannot bring that shine again.
She stood up without any emotions, She was as blank as a white paper.
The beautiful red lehnga with golden embroidery suits her perfectly, Her long black hair and wide eyes compliment her outfit completely. Oh, how beautiful she looks but something is missing. There is no happiness on the face of the girl who always loved to look pretty. She was living the nightmare of every girl of her age. How ominous her life is she wondered, with this thought tear rolled down.
Took a deep breath and controlled her emotions. Wore her dupatta and came to a room, Decorated with roses and candles and bloom.
It was perfectly decorated like every girl fascinates. But for her, this was nothing of value here it is reflected by her face. This room was decorated for her like this every day, someone waits for her in the room every day.
Nights haunt her, the moon scares her. Men frighten her. Now she knows why her mother used to stop her whenever she said she wants to be like her, Now she knows why her mother cried whenever she hugged her.  
These bangles are fetters to her, All the colours are not so happy for her. Her innocence is lost somewhere, she doesn't even remember when she laughed last without faking.
She is like a body without the soul. She is like a night with no moon.

— The End —