Zipped!

Stepping out of her shell,
she entered a world which she never knew well,
it was a world of mongrel genders
where lad and lass breathed together in healthy tempers
grown amidst the velvet of her society’s trends, where such tempers were condemned
decided to be choosy in her friends
but ouch! Failed to transcend
finding hard to find the missing peas of her pod
questioned the God
for thinking that was odd
the thoughts she was hooked to
were lined by her society in her mind
making her seclude the lads in all kind
he and she can never be just friends was dilating in her soul
thus, keeping herself in control
this was the swing asked to like against her dislike
fearing to sail against the wind
she kept clutching the threads locked viciously in her fists
“the threads which never connected the opposite figures’ wrists”
Trying not to vex the popular thought
Finally vowed to follow society’s ought and choke herself a lot
Living in desolation
Flunked in all drives
Centered to befriend her types
She cursed the shell that made her life hell
All those whom she counted upon
Had thoughts anti to her
Making her boycott them
Drawing again herself to hem
Frustrated she lived in a box
Smelling its darkness
Reminding her of her society’s talks
which could malign her clocks
but the darkness was much
to dash her hopes and
fitly had to cut those threads
that entangled her feet
from stepping in the field
where he and she could tweet ,meet without deceit
breaking all ironical bars, where he and she are made to tie a knot on the end
but can never be just friends before that end,
decided to get along the worldly trend
detaching herself from society’s stems
breathing a sigh of relief she realized
he can be a bosom buddy
against the thoughts fuddy duddy
alas! Her respite was transient
the society eschewed to be lenient in its thoughts
and saw her as a maligned lot
“we just good friends” was what she kept
Justifying to them
But “just” was too whooping, not to be condemned
She tried to make them see a change with change
But got a blow up on her face
Finally she became her own philosopher
With an aught demeanor
Towards the malignant talks against her manner
Au-courant, she lives her life
Without any knife
That created immense strife
Freezing her social life
Releasing herself from those parochial threads
Yet she worries for those still peeping the heads from their vacuumed webs
Like her there are still many voodooed
To suffer the Tory moods!
--- Saloni Gupta

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