Behind the closed door .

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She was locked in a room.
In a room with things
That meant nothing to her.

A wandering soul
filled with thirst for adventures in life.
What use would be sheets of papers and pens?
And a pair of ghungroos?
It made no sense.

She roared
behind the closed door.
She wailed
Behind the closed door.
No escape from the space
Behind the closed door.

She banged her head in the walls.
She screamed for help.
She slept with wet eyes.
For over a month she just cried.

The wild soul silenced
When a note was passed
From under the door.
“There is Hope.” It said.
That’s when she picked up the things lying on the bed.

She danced to the tunes
Of her own ghungroos.
With a passion and rage,
As if she was her own guru.

She picked up the pen
And made a new friend.
The magic of the wand of words
Seemed to have no end.

The tears disappeared.
Only beads of sweat
sparkled on her body.
And when the door opened,
She wanted to see nobody.

She created her own world
With what she had.
A dancer, a writer,
A passionate soul shining brighter.


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