Her Garden

She slipped into the magic garden through the gate.It felt great to run free and wild on the pathway with the thick rose bushes on either side. She swung her head back, her hair flew back from her lovely little face – long lustrous locks dancing in the wind. Her two hands were spread as wide as she could on either side of her body and her dress swiftly caught the gust of air in its fabric and she could feel the pleats of her skirt press against her body and fly carefree behind her.

Suddenly she stopped. She felt a tugging at the back – her dress had caught on a thorn on one of the bushes. She stopped and slowly unfastened the hold and stopped to cup a rose within the palms of her hands and she leaned into the bush and her nose breathed in the aroma…

This was her place where she could be herself and not be afraid of being criticized or judged – not that she was ever anything but ladylike’, ‘ms. primandproper’ her cousins used to tease her-  but even then, she always felt conscious of her voice, her body.

No one could see her here though. ‘He’ couldn’t come here…touch her…hurt her with his old, dark wrinkly fingers and his ugly mouth. The ‘first time’ it happened she was confused – ‘What is he doing to me?’ ‘ I am only a child!’ She screamed, silently.Her voice failed her. In her mind she cried to the one person who she knew would never forsake her “Help me..Lord Help me!’….and then, he stopped.

She still wasn’t sure what had happened to her but tears like torrents rolled down her cheeks and her whole body shook as she weeped…

…But this was her space – her Utopia where she could roam if she liked or be still if she liked. She could love here and be loved without fear.

little-girl-with-roses-hulya-ozkok.jpg (900×600)
image courtesy: fineartamerica.com
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Author: Nishi

Lifes imperfections give you those wonderful brainwaves which translate to stories and poems that enlighten and entertain.

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