She looked like a lily in a jar, cool in white and could have been growing in a field, but for the look of pain, of bondage in the eyes, chained forever, to drawing room sophistication the daily nothings of life. Cups of tea, cucumber, sandwiches to men she didn’t know, didn’t want to know from inside, she wanted to keep the crystal white of her sarees intact. But these ingratiating smiles, looks of blatant desires, she had learned to counter. Impassively like Christ, dying on the crucifix. Lilies of the field, neither toil nor do they spin, but she, the white lily growing in a jar. Caught in the crevice of time, impaled on the walls of desires could it be, the lily neither withers nor dries, driven on to live, by the sheer willpower of countless people.
Published by ambikajha
I am Ambika Jha.I like to write on different topics.I feel life is too short for anything.So let us work our best in the given time and let life's music be in rhythm and rhyme.So be your best and never stop to learn and write. View more posts