Writing

She burnt her shabby hut with her dead father’s freezing corpse inside it, slowly embracing flames. Consumed in the fire and turned into ashes..

A short hem line, A deep neck line, Flashing shades, heels and boots, And without knowing what’s inside her heart and soul, She is tagge..

The mirror would crack, she thought; The image would turn into oblivion, Or worse, the reflection would suffer demise in transition. Seven year..

~This is for a section of society who are nothing less than warriors, brutally facing all battles with ease.~

This poem addresses the social evil of Child Labor in my country, India.

Tags fighting-back