In a distant terrain where earth belonged to the seas,
amidst houses that spoke of kings and queens; breathed a pillaged soul.
Dainty and fragile were not to describe her,
Courage, conviction and peace adorned her spirit.
A childhood cradled like a pearl on a string,
A semblance of; she the queen, the world; her subjects.
Adolescence came with a streak of retribution, her rebuttal; an angered rebellion.
She clung on to her innocence; filthy hands on her made her vile.
Bludgeoned to break apart, she bent down instead.
She dwelled in her dreams now, envisages from unexplained roots.
Nightmares no elude though, she murmured to spectres unknown.
Colours and crystal water she perceived, struggles in mired slopes she felt.
From princes and palaces she belonged to a thatched vault home she called her own.
She preferred her eerie dreams, not her lightless dismal reality.
Her escape; her love. Her escape; her faith.
Destiny succeeds to prison her instead, a vision lost and odious words are what she gets.
Blaming herself each time, she knocked all doors for respite.
A dearth of serendipity the world had, she withered unnoticed and unanswered.
The string ruthlessly cut, the pearl now scattered to the floor.
– Strutima Kalita