How often the muse of her life betrayed the sun in her eyes,
The starry soul with moonlit eyes bid goodbye to the dreams that were chaste.
How often did her heart and mind refused to be one with this world,
The child in her who denied to grow left in the world unchaperoned.
How often the choice she made belonged to those she owned her flesh and blood too and were not her own.
Her desires were sold for the ego’s so bold who claimed they knew why she was born.
How often were battles won in the name of customs and communities.
Her thunder , her spark, the gamut of what if’s killed in the veil of traditions.
How often She dies each day in a home or two,
Her long fought battles strangled, her thoughts poisoned , her efforts burnt to ashes all for there greater good.
The Phoenix doesn’t rise from the remains of her,
What rises is the fathomable faith that this was her fate, her destiny.
What rises is a soul less being surrendering to this calamity.
The epidemic she spreads goes down in generations , changing the course of what could have been,
If she dared to change the norm her existence would be demeaned.
Be a wife , a mother, a daughter to your kin,
Cosmos beyond this if thought of would be shrugged with a grin.
Redemption is in the fire that burns in her heart.
If left to do her will renaissance will bless the womb of the universe with its birth.