With scars given to her last noon.
Moaning and pain proceed to the moon,
Yes; it is the fourth phase f waning moon.
Hunger, thirst and painful strides,
Its all for his longer life
Hopes, desires, logic and rights,
All crushed under the word called wife.
Her swollen face inside the saree,
Chants hymns through thirsty throat.
All waiting eyes glued on clouds,
As moon is engulfed in its shroud
Then it shines with waning face.
Bearing same mark scars on the face.
All lifts their thin wired filters,
To see both the gods in alter.
All got blessed by touching the feet.
She still waits for her god’s feet.
Her god is busy in political twit.
And have no time except physical needs.
At last hasty god comes with water,
And asks her to come early in slaughter