Updated: Mar 6


The colour of her eyes,

The marks on her back and thighs,

From the torture she was subjected to,

From the whip which her skin did give this hue.


The colour of her arms,

The blows which on her body were drawn,

From the abuse she was made a victim of,

Despite her ‘no’ which was overshadowed by their scoffs.


The colour of her scars,

The wounds which her skin mar,

From the brutality she has faced,

And the torment which her feelings did efface.


The colour of her world,

The place where she is unheard,

For her voice here deserves no place,

And her standing here has no space.


The colour of her salt sprinkled tears,

Which through her eyes spear,

The moment she experiences excruciating pain,

Or the moment she realizes her struggle is in vain.


The colour of the sun whose warmth her skin never knew.


The colour of the sunrise and sunset which to her may seem anew.


The colour of the roses which never mingled with her hair.


The colour of the violets at which she never got to stare.


The colour of the vast fields in which she never meandered.


The colour of the beauteous beaches she never wandered.


The colour of the mud her feet have never felt.


The colour of the shells amongst which she has never knelt.

As her beauteous eyelids try to shield,

Her from the dystopia afield,

She realizes the colours which

Her life, her reality do stitch.

And she slowly does begin to comprehend,

Her colour blindness has from her agony stemmed,

But she whispers to herself in a voice hushed and low,

‘You are beautiful,’ and that is all your eyes shall know.

Author: V.R Kapse

Editor: Diya Chakraborty

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