Pain of my heart
The cry of my soul
No one to hear now
Am I a burden
As they claim
Am I unworthy
As they say
Searching my existence
I only found silence
No one to answer
No one to listen
Meera lay curled on her bed. The room was locked. Lights off. Curtains drawn. Windows shut. Her eyes — swollen, red, heavy — told stories no one asked about. She cried. Loudly. Then silently. She shouted toward the ceiling, the sky, the unknown. “Why so much pain? What have I done? Is it a crime to be a girl in this world? Why is it so hard to have a voice… to be free… to just be me?” So many questions. And yet, no one to answer them. Later, she washed her face, tied her hair, and got ready. The library — her silent temple — was calling again. As she opened the main gate, she stopped. A man in orange robes stood there — like he'd been waiting. A wandering monk. Without a thought, she reached for a ₹10 note and offered it. But instead of leaving, he looked straight into her soul and said, “All your wishes will come true. You will succeed.” She stood still — surprised, unsure. But something inside her softened. “Was that… my answer?” she thought. She didn’t know. But her ...
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