A hole in her frock..
What if people mock.
She refused to become the laughing stock.
Coming from a hole..
Dark like the charcoal.
Where spirits had burnt..
Squeamished but she learnt.
An unknown path..
She kept walking towards.
As no one is going to follow..
Looking out for her sorrow.
Whatever she sees..
Will let her be.
And whatever she does..
Has to eventually agree.
As hands get annoying..
Faces start lying.
She looks around to find..
The ones who were there..
Are not even trying.
Is she allowed to be scared ?
Stuffs until she is layered.
Sometimes she outruns..
Sometimes she gets caught.
Sometimes she hides behind walls that run paper thin.
Noises reaching out to her..
Unavoidably failing to stir..
As loss makes the murmur.
Longing for the road..
Which is back in.
What if she decides ..
And gets trapped in.
With no one but the windows..
Starting at her.
While she wonders..
Is someone out there still looking ?


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