The Widow
Wrapped in six yards of white muslin,
banished from her home with a tonsured head,
she faces a curse of loss of colours
ever since her husband was brought in dead.
Mummified for life she still exists
breathing, eating bland food, all desires unfed
Bare feet, she lays herself to sleep
curling up pillowless, on a cold wooden bed
But when she sleeps she often dreams
of butterflies and blossoms in purple and red.
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