She needs to dig deep
to pull the roots
that grow under her feet
to do so requires strength
and a sharp shovel
the earth on which she stands
has hardened to stone
she waits for a miracle from sunrise
to sunset, but none appears—
her own shadow lengthens before
it merges into night
and so days and months pass,
seasons roll by—
she cannot see, but feels the tug
of the roots,
how entrenched they must be
to hold her
bound.
© Neetu Malik
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