No one will celebrate me like her.
Yet, I do not feel belonged to her.
The world says, “Eventually, she would become like her mother.”
She whispers to herself, “Then, may no one suffer.”
On an eventful day, sitting by her own side,
She pleads, “How have you been?”
Heaviness in her heart melts, and a tear rolls down.
With mum to words and numb to feelings of the heart,
Rage is building up! wrath is all I foresee.
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