A Wife's Rebellion
In a world where whispers were the currency
of women, a letter dared to roar.
Tagore, the weaver of unseen truths,
unfurled a tale with threads of fire.
Mrinal, a caged bird with a song unheard,
her beauty admired, her voice a muffled word.
Years of stifled dreams, a mind in disguise,
until a spark ignited, a rebellion in her eyes.
The letter, a weapon sharp and bright,
against the rules that choked her light.
She wrote of patience, a heavy shroud,
and a yearning for freedom, fierce and loud.
Poetry, her escape, a world undefined,
where her spirit soared, leaving societal chains behind.
A world ruled by men, fathers, sons, and might,
but Mrinal, a melody breaking through the night.
Her daughter's loss, a wound that mirrored neglect,
ached for love, a love she wouldn't disrespect.
No longer confined to the roles they defined,
she would nurture, she would love, with a heart and mind unconfined.
Tagore's words, a mirror reflecting the fight,
of women rising, claiming their birthright.
To shatter the shackles, to breathe and to fly,
Mrinal's voice echoed a battle cry.
Let us heed the call, a revolution's start,
a wife's letter echoing in every beating heart.
(On the occasion of Tagore’s Birthday on May 7)
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