Eyes so bright,
Filled with dark-black kohl.
Gold-yellow skin,
From the sun which they have stole.
Face all beautiful,
Yet some behind the purdahs, hidden,
Are the calm & sweet Indian women.

Soul full of ambitions,
Burnt in the love flushed fires, 
Remain the elated ashes, 
For following their heart's desires.

They are the statues, feigned by the midas touch, 
Countenance hallowed with smiles, 
Concealed as such.

Controlling their pains &
Killing their sorrows,
They now stand as tall as a hill.
But for the love for their culture, they grew up with,
Still their bangles jangles & their bindis stand still.
© Aarya kareepadath