Mynahs and bulbuls delight her with morning melodies,
Her heart hums with the gentle breeze,
The window is a gateway to her weary soul,
A temporary escapade from her existing hellhole.

Skies paint a canvas in myriad colours,
How her dreams dangle in vivid pictures,
In a bubble of fantasy she is suspended for a while,
Before being seized by reality vile.

Her whispered desires turn into songs poignant,
Shedding tears in ways silent,
The verklempt walls of her house no longer have ears,
Deaf they seem after all these years.

A queen she seems to the world outside,
Unaware of her life within the walls inside,
Oh! She has lost count of the masks she has adorned,
Her fake smiles outshine the reality that is mourned.

***