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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=451443" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Child Widowed at Eight</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I crossed <br>The threshold <br>Of my new home, <br>As a bride</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My eyes fell<br>On a woman draped <br>In white…<br>Standing against <br>The sunlight, <br>Highlighting <br>Deep furrows <br>On her brow…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I felt embarrassed, <br>And overdressed.<br>Later asked my spouse, <br>'Who is that woman, <br>Why didn’t she take<br>Part in the celebrations? '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'She is my aunt, <br>She is widowed, <br>Was a child, merely eight<br>When she lost her mate, <br>Ever since she has been<br>Ostracised, <br>Portent of bad omen...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But she is the only woman<br>I have known as a mother, <br>She nurtured<br>And told us stories<br>We grew up on laughter…'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Condemned <br>To life sentence…<br>Did anyone ask <br>How it felt<br>Yes, at eight…<br>Did she feel bereft? <br>Did she understand<br>Why her head had been shaved, <br>Colourful bangles pulled out of her hand, <br>Light, colours, laughter banned? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I could see, <br>The child <br>In her <br>Had survived, <br>When she played<br>With my first born<br>And sang lullabys, put her to sleep<br>When she cried…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She had moved on…<br>What was gone was gone<br>She had not even known…<br>At times, she dyed<br>Her Sari palest of blue<br>Her favourite hue…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Everyone mocked, <br>Pretended to be shocked…<br>And asked have you forgotten? <br>No she has not, I said, <br>'Yes, she is human-<br>Now a woman.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her heart still beats, <br>She has needs.<br>She still breathes…<br>Let her live, <br>As she too feels…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why is she being punished? <br>And expected to extinguish<br>The spark divine? <br>She not commit<br> any crime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She doesn’t deserve cruelty, <br>Please treat her with sensitivity<br>And some generosity.<br>She has not known love, motherhood.<br>She lost her childhood…'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I was peeved…<br>This exploitation and <br>And many questions <br>Nagged me for weeks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One day, my mate<br>Said, come Ma pack.<br>I am sorry, <br>I delayed<br>Taking you away.<br>Tears streaming down her cheeks<br>She nodded, 'I am glad, <br>You finally asked.'<br>She looked at me<br>As if for assent…<br>'Give us a chance<br>To let you be…'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mamta+Agarwal">Mamta Agarwal</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=451443" data-title="A Child Widowed at Eight de Mamta Agarwal" data-description="As I crossed 
The threshold 
Of my new home, 
As a bride

My eyes fell
On a woman draped 
In white…
Standing against 
The sunlight, 
Highlighting 
Deep furrows 
On her brow…

I felt embarrassed, 
And overdressed.
Later asked my spouse, 
'Who i..."></div>
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