Clear skies, warm sunshine,
Up before to welcome the shrine,
Worn out her face,
Hiding past her palpable grace.
A Mechanical life,
She someone’s wife,
Life held with a knife,
At her neck,
Not once she complains grief.
Doing her daily chores,
Dominated by the social mores,
Shut down by all doors,
Her hand full of pores.
Yet doesn’t complain,
For her fate is a strain,
Yet from work she no refrain,
For her life she inane.
Hiding behind her eyes a tear,
For she could exhibit quite a flair,
All that glimmers her hair,
Exhibiting full care.
Chained is her soul,
Having forgotten her goal,
Shines the moon,
As she goes,
Her face like that of coal.
Making a move,
As though nothing to prove,
Reasonable are her claims,
Kaput she end her life.
