By Ruma Chakraborty
Tell me, Ma that story again
Where the princess was saved
By the knight in shining armour
Where they lived in happiness forever
In the bright moonlit night
Under the starry light.
Wiping the blood and sweat off her brow
Stamped there by spousal might
Began the hungry mother her tale
As her cowering child after a domestic fight
Wanted reassurance with which
Her mother would surely regale.
This is not a sad or gory tale
Rest assured, it speaks of hope
though it does lift the silent veil
Off the misery in homes, often a trope
The stories spun like succouring gold
Flows through the veins helping the ones in pain, cope.
There is much to be done
With back to the wall, no place to run
Now stand straight and tall
Raise your voices like a strident gun
Reclaim the land and the right
Usurped ages ago, with righteous fight.
Till the day comes when you are the story made
Which will nourish eons to come
Without desperation, spirit in shade
Be the inspiration for at least some
Your hope will float, your glory never fade.
By Ruma Chakraborty
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