#CelebrateingtheRainbow at the workplace – share your stories of Pride!
The story of a woman’s fight for freedom from oppression and the shackles of abuse in matrimony.
I fled; I ascended towards the light, I rose
Higher and higher to flee the life I chose
I spied a stairway, a bridge to freedom
I latched onto it, I took a decision random.
For to me, it was a beacon in my stormy night
Something that brought hope and liberty in sight
I left behind the bleeding crimson of my days
I clambered up, forgetting old paths and ways.
Chased by the demons of my granite past
I climbed towards the aura, the beacon cast
Tipping my head and breathing in a pledge
To step by step ascend, sans past suffrage
Yes, finally I left behind my pain and sorrow
Hopeful I snuck a look ahead at the morrow
It beckoned to me arms outstretched at dawn
I realized I had won, was no longer his pawn.
Author’s note – My poem is the story of a woman’s fight for freedom from oppression and the shackles of abuse in matrimony.
Image via Pixabay
Sonal is a multiple award winning blogger and writer and the founder of a women-centric manpower search firm - www.rianplacements.com.
Her first book, a volume of poetry - Islands in the stream - is slated read more...
This post has published with none or minimal editorial intervention. Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
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Can you believe this bloke compelled me to wear only saris - full time at home- till the eighth month of my pregnancy?! The excessive heat coupled with humidity made my life miserable.
Recently when I browsed an interesting post by a fellow author on this very forum I had a sense of déjà vu. She describes the absolutely unnecessary hullabaloo over ladies donning nighties and /or dupatta –less suits.
I wish to narrate how I was in dire straits so far wearing a ‘nightie’ was concerned.
I lived in my ultra orthodox sasural under constant surveillance of two moral guardians (read Taliban) in the shape of the husband’s mom and dad. The mom was unschooled and dim-witted while the dad was a medical practitioner. But he out-Heroded the Herod in orthodoxy.
Her mother pulled her hand and made her sit on the bed. “How can you behave like nothing happened, dear? Your whole life is ruined now!”
Trigger Warning: Implications of rape and assault and suicidal ideation.
“Come with me, my love.” His charming smile and mesmerizing eyes would lead anyone to walk behind him. She was different. “You need me Sirisha,” he was desperate.
“I said, get out,” she stood stubbornly.
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