Her screams have become screeching –
loud, jagged, almost deafening.
She revolted with them for most of her life,
but now her weapons fail her.
Inside her is a place untraced,
walled in by giants she never built –
walls she was born with.
Before she was born, they warned her:
your life will be crestfallen
by your own hands.
She carries the weight of what she never chose,
yet carved a home in her heart
for those screams to take shelter.
Now she is helpless,
raided by pain.
If only she could break the walls
and free the one trapped inside.
If only she could dig
into the depths of her soul,
to gather pieces lost across dimensions,
fighting battles not hers alone,
but the collective’s.
She needs help.
She needs release.
She glimpses the one waiting –
patient, unwavering,
beyond the walls.
One day, perhaps,
they will meet.
One day, perhaps,
the walls will fall.
Smita in words 