Yes, it aches, my heart aches..

not over a gentleman, but for the reason..

known as improper for a young lady..

to let go of the rein, to have a wild run..

 

To create the history, not sewing or painting could..

To mount at the pace of gallop, a vivid imagination would..

Pretty ribbons and a bonnet stuck on me..

Waiting for the gentleman to ask on the floor..

With a sigh I let my mind wander..

Writing novels, to look a new quest for..

 

Publishing my name in the hearts..

Copyrighting my stories in the charts..

 

“Doesn’t  suit to a princess”, they say..

The pages of my diary, narrate a different cry..

Should I rebel or Should I give-in?

Write my own story, life has to wry..

 

“Keep your hands and chin this way, you’d be introduced to a prince”

Without blinking, I let my eyes wince..

 

I shall be liberated, I turned towards the window..

Determined to give an apt ending to the story..

The looks of wrinkled paper liberated me..

Landed on the ground from third storey..

 

“Are you princess?”, I heard the voice..

Run forever or face now, was the choice..

 

Turning around..

Resolution in the ways..

Fear in the heart..

Saw someone who slays..

 

Slays the society and its rules..

The prince indeed was not cruel..

 

I ruled as the princess and the author..

As the queen and the influencer..

As the mother and the advisor..

Published and copyrighted, signed my name as ‘Warrior’.

 

[Image Source: Internet]

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