The Fortunate Widow
She is draped in white,
lacking the yellow, blue or red.
She follows what elders guide
her husband has left the deathbed.
In the midst of hue and cry,
she is happy from within.
Assum not that she is wry.
Forget not what she had been.
She runs the family not the house.
There; she was a servant for a louse.
She was scared, fisted and bruised
for being a wife, she was accused.
The laws of the society are absurd.
All her cries were unheard,
till her colours are with the beast,
though her joy with him is least.
Bangles were broken, broken they are,
broken is her soul, face with scar.
The sorrowful days are gone now.
Her smile will be questioned now.
Because she has lost that right,
rather, put a show of plight.
Alone she laughs with no tears to fall.
She is a fortunate widow after all.