The One-Eyed Warrior

The One-Eyed Warrior

She lost one eye to glaucoma,

The same year that she lost her husband,

What she did not lose throughout the ordeal

Were her courage, her spark, and her sense of humour.

“It is easier to thread a needle with one eye.”

She chuckled at the pun with utmost glee.

Two one-eyed warriors on a wicker chair,

One piercing the fabric of time,

While the other impaled 4 layers of cotton.

~

“One can dream just as well with just one eye.”

Grandma enjoyed the most restful sleep.

It was the only time her needle would get a break

From creating beautiful blooms on barren cloth.

Her nimble fingers would never stop moving,

As yards of thread curled up to create intricate art.

Her embroidery was her way to unwind with the thread,

To conceal her sorrows and struggles

In the web of shiny and colourful yarn.

~

Her needle was more potent than a paint brush.

Her tablecloths and bed sheets told stories

Of the gardens and rooftops from her childhood.

They were adorned with caricatures

Of furry pet dogs and goats, long dead.

If you looked closely, you would find her too,

A girl in a pink frock, with two pigtails.

Her face looked different but her smile was the same,

Broad and cheerful, a few teeth missing.

~

Her vision became foggy as the days went by,

The tremors and trembles of old age arrived.

She still kept sewing sequins on Mother’s saris,

And darning the holes in our socks.

She slipped into a coma the day she finished her masterpiece,

A portrait of her family embroidered on blue silk.

Do not place a white shroud over her just yet,

Place an unmonogrammed handkerchief by her side instead,

I am sure that the one-eyed warrior will rise again.

~~~~

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The Girl In The Glass Chamber

The Girl In The Glass Chamber

She lives in a chamber made of glass,

Transparent walls constructed by puberty.

This magical glass restricts her motion,

Though others can walk through as if it is air.

The world flings numerous words at her,

Questions, accusations, and insults.

She screams that she is injured,

They demand to see her wounds,

But the bruises on her brain cannot be revealed.

They do not see the glass,

They cannot feel its coldness.

They blame her for not spreading her wings,

For not taking flight and exploring the unknown.

Little do they know that each time she attempts to soar,

She crashes against the invincible glass,

That does not crack but shatters her soul.

They call her feeble and lethargic,

They know not how hard she tries to breathe.

They say she gives up too easily,

Complains too much and smiles too little.

All this while the pain and panic wring her nerves,

And yet she chooses not to whimper.

She can’t break through but you can get in,

Be cautious and tread gently.

Perhaps two can break the glass together,

One poisonous shard at a time.

When summer comes and the sun glows bright,

The color of her cheeks may return.

And the warmth of love could evaporate,

The dark shadows lurking in her mind.

Show her that the world is a kinder place

Than her nightmares force her to believe.

Throwing stones at the chamber from the outside

Only makes its deadly grasp more fatal.

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