A nut in its atavistic quest,
Look for old graveyards,
Forgotten and fallen ones,
As the millennial epic in progress,
She needs now little more pages full of dust,
Tales of suffering,
and survival of women in the last.

The days were to gather and plant,
when the husky whispers of barefoot,
rolling in search of roots and fruits,
time has changed drastically
but nothing new is there for
her posterity,
Still rolling in search of an identity.

Paintings and curves of caves speak,
As if they are the living stone!
Pathos under the veil of beauty,
To abuse and enjoy,
A woman must give birth and born,
but nothing new is there for
her posterity,
Still rolling; a bitter face of reality!

She came like a warrior, at times as a heroin
Occupied a volume of historical pages,
She is believed to be in Holy Spirit,
From Athena to Durga and Saraswati
And many more hidden figures there,
She can’t give birth only,
A woman must be born and brought up to be a winner here.