A woman is never untrue!

A woman works from her heart...
Into all her relationships...
All her dealings...
It's the men who wear their hearts on their sleeves...
They have their brains between their legs.

A woman doesn't cheat...
If she seeks justice...
Know it...
In this country...
It is hard to come out ...
For a woman...
About her relationship...
For she will be labeled...
A man just goes about his routine each day ...
Even after committing a heinous Crime...
For he's the most eligible bachelor in town ...
As he calls himself.

These so called...
People that make up our society...
Disown a woman for being truthful...
A man who uses women...
Is referred to as a saint...
No one sees him committing the crime...
He walks away Scot free...
The Woman gets labelled...
If she seeks justice...
She is trolled and shamed...
What kind of society do we live in?
This is not right ...
And, the right kind of woman...
Will fight till the end.

A woman never lies about herself...
Not in public...
She goes public only when...
She's wronged...
A woman is never untrue!

The Lunch Hour...

It's the most difficult time of the day...
The Lunch Hour.
She remembers sitting by his side...
At his office...
In the conference room...
Sharing his lunch...
They would eat in a comfortable silence...
With her polishing off ...
The homemade pickle always.
The love and care with which he would break off...
Extra pieces of bread(roti) ...
And place on her plate...
Sacrificing his food for her...
Her insatiable hunger for home cooked food.
She would help him finish...
His fruits...
Those small moments were big moments...
She lives in those moments...
She seems to be lost ...
Completely a goner ...
She knows not what she's doing today ...
She lives in those moments...
That defined ...
Moments that cemented ...
Her feelings for him.

The Lunch Hour was one such moment.

His voice

She craves to hear his voice each day now ...
She waits for him to send an audio...
She dies to hear his words of wisdom...
His Nos ...
The irritation in his voice...
When she eats junk ...
The positive encouragement he gives...
She waits for those words.

There was a time...
She was reluctant to meet him...
Now she counts days, hours, minutes and seconds ...
Just to be seated in front of him...
Speaking non stop...
Not giving him a chance to speak ...
And taking it all out...
To her hearts content...
She's in love ...
Yet again...
Mustn't she be wary?

It must be love ...
For the way she melts on seeing him...
His voice gives her the goosebumps...
She is totally floored...
Enamored by his persona...
She's never met a Doctor like him.

Sometimes...

“Sometimes stories cry out to be told in such loud voices that you write them just to shut them up.” - Stephen King

If I could capture memories
And store them inside jars,
I’d fill the shelves with reveries,
Like night collects the stars;
And in each one I would return,
And frequent to the past,
But yours, would be an urn,
The jar I’d visit last.

She writes her thoughts

Just for the lark...
She pens her thoughts...
Writes them down here...
And,
Forgets about it.
It's her way of dealing with her emotions...
Her way of getting over someone...
Her way of moving on...
Her way of vomiting it out ...
Whether it be venom she spews ...
Or,
Honey that flows...
She just puts it in words ...
And then,
She's over and done with it.

Not the Cinderella end she expected

Her story...
A fable from the beginning...
The end ...
Not the Cinderella story she expected.
It's so easy to dream of a happily forever...
That never happens...
All that occurs is ...
Heartbreaks of different kinds...
No Cinderella...
No Prince Charming...
Just heartbreaking moments...
With a bitter taste...
And even more bitter aftertaste.
Being born beautiful...
Isn't a criteria for a happy ending...
It's a lot of toil...
The bane of beauty...
With no brains to ascertain...
The rogues in love.
The happiness of an affair...
Is short-lived...
There is no rainbow...
There are no colours...
Just bleak grey clouds...
Reminding her to...
Walk in the rain...
Yet again...
To camouflage the tears...
Streaming down her cheeks.

There is no Cinderella like end...
Just another winding path...
To walk alone.

She scripted the end

He hates her...
He hates her guts...
Valiant in her grief...
She had to let go...
But, to make it easier for him...
She scripted the end ...
Of the love story he started.

A series of well orchestrated uploads...
And he hated her defiance...
Definitely not to his liking...
The alpha male ego hurt...
He sulked and whined ...
She twisted his arm a bit more ...
And finally,
She just let it all loose...
A whoose...
A flurry of emotional outbursts later...
She was calm...
She walked away ...
Cool in her demeanor...
With a spring in her gait ...
She welcomed the autumn of her life...
She scripted the end of a love story that never was.

The illusion of justice

We are all sold out to...
The illusion of justice...
There is no justice...
If one has to run ...
Pillar to post...
Screaming for justice...
Which never comes...
We the people...
Get sold off in the process...
Justice remains pending...
We all live in the illusion...
The illusion of justice.