Her eyes were an ocean of wonder
But seemed to be rueing on some blunders
The brownness of her eyes seemed to be
Enshrouding tons of grieves
In the cabinets which are out of my reach
Her plump cheeks could not veil
The bloody movement in her veins
And hence were bathed in all shades of red
Her rose tinged lips were sealed and glued
But seemed to be humming the odes of sorrows
Under her heavy breaths
The sweet angelic smile
Seemed to be trapped in the sapphire of gloom
I fear if she has unknowingly stitched herself
Into the cobweb of troubles
I fear if her mirror-like delicate heart
Has hammered by some heinous hands
I fear if someone has strained
The sleek strands of her dignity
My fears briskly settled
As she poured a basting spoonful
Rice on my plate
The scent of nuttiness
Was amplified by heat
Half of the rice was burned
To blackness
But the smelly garlic gravy
Stained them with yellowness
In the fireplace, the coals cracked and groaned in pain
As the fire tortures them again and again
I can hear their agony
I wish I could also hear
the melancholia assassinating the innocence
Of my daughter.

                                                        ~ Chetna Vashisht 

                                                             New Delhi, India