By: Neelam Singh

The wounded soul,
dies each day
The internal being withers away
Being strong is part of survival routine
But courage inside is failing me

stigma and pain sting my frost-bitten soul
binding my step to move forward
Little does anyone know that I was giving up on me
No array of hope offered a zest for living

Till the day I decided it was over
No more misery hereon within
Wiped my tears
Stood my ground
No one will ever push me around!

I hold my head high in vain
Now realizing the strength within
The weak and timid is pushed around by all
But once you decide,
No weakness, I would rather stand tall!
Like a whooping wind, all gossip vanishes
The crowd scatters
Then you know
Life can always get another chance
If only you have the desire to push forth.