Indian Widow Poem by Nikhil Parekh

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she was ruthlessly ridiculed at every quarter of this conventionally acrid society,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she was treated worse than what people could have treated barbaric dogs on stray streets; shrugging her entirely
from the fabric of blissful existence,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she hopelessly staggered on every step towards a painstaking defeat; with literally every door slamming tyrannically shut
upon her impeccable persona,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she became the subject of indefatigable abuse; with all males in vicinity; salaciously devouring every bit of her untainted innocence,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she lost even the most infinitesimal trace of her integrity in the air outside; with people preferring to bleed; rather
than look at her cursed face,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she frantically searched all night and day for an unassailable friend; but what she got was the uncouthly coldblooded whiplash instead,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she was disastrously decimated in her conquest to be self sufficient; with powerhouses of wealth in this Country; devilishly using her innocence to their savage advantage,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she had become a ravishingly ingratiating persona all right; but morbidly devoid of an irrefutably moral conscience; which led to righteously blazing light,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she had remorsefully frozen the poignantly scarlet streams of blood in her veins; in her hopeless mission of trying to savor empathy and blankets of compassionate love,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she had become a statue vengefully divested of even the tiniest of emotion; as she into a life of lecherous nothingness; for times immemorial,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she had lost her pristine chastity the moments she stepped outside; with the winds of diabolical prejudice shattering her into an infinite pieces; of bizarre worthlessness,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she had become a mere commodity; being insidiously traded on the dais of depravation; to yield to the viciously abhorrent cry of the devil,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she left her immaculate children in the malicious orphanage; rather than having them witness her being gorily mutilated
every unfurling second of the day,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she alighted from bed every morning all right; but with the flaming light outside; seeming to be worse than the corpses; of dolorously dead light,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she incessantly cursed her destiny all night and day; for yet keeping her so tirelessly breathing and discerningly alive,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she felt as each instant stabbing her with a whirlpool of heinous atrocity; with the word hope disappearing forever from the thesaurus of the; murderously ungainly planet,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she was exonerated from all relationships; with even those bonded by blood; snobbishly failing to recognize the blissful contours of her; innocuous face,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she had even stopped praying to the Almighty Lord; knowing it perfectly well that she would be satanically kicked by
the conventionally ritualistic priests; from the very first of the sacred
Temple steps,

O! Yes for once upon a time it was indeed those two pinches of vermilion glistening profound between her hair; that had granted her the status of an
embellished queen; with this same society saluting her with loads of respect,

While today she felt that the worst sin she had committed was to marry; for after her husband unfortunately quit his last breath; she had become the
same treacherous word on everyone's mouth; which she forever wanted to forget; she had become just one another in the devastatingly augmenting list of Indian widows.