by Harshvardhan J. Pandit
The light streaked in through the cloud,
The sun shining in all its yellow glory,
Its presence filled everyone with warmth and joy,
But she felt cold inside, and alone in the crowd.
Her mind wandered, restless and queasy,
Although she stood still in her place,
She was not here, but elsewhere,
Returning to this world was not easy.
A warrior who felt past her prime,
She was used to fighting wars and battles,
Though the enemy was sometimes herself,
She won and she also lost every time.
And yet she continued, for what else there was to do,
To give up never occurred to her,
To give in also meant defeat,
And so she fought, as her strength dwindled by a few.
People passing by paid not attention to her,
They could see nothing there,
Nor did friends and relations understand,
In their own worlds they were.
So she held her labors firm and strong by herself,
Though inside she cried, in pain and in suffering,
Not a sound as silence surrounded her in an aura,
She was Atlas, the weight of her world on her shoulders.