Festooned with the flowers of union,
the shy girl smiled.
Her red locks, braided
were dangling on either side.
She couldn’t laugh, she couldn’t cry,
’cause abandonment was too familiar.
And she knew the pool of agony
that would soon turn into an emerald pond.
All sufferings end, tears dry up, and
the last rays of the sun soothe the soul.
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Ankita is a middle-class Bengali woman whose eyelids are painted with yet-to-be fulfilled dreams. An avowed reader, she only wants to learn and write in life.
