Little when she was,
A bolt of lightning she got,
Keep it underneath her pillow
“I am special”, she smiled and thought.
She grew with it,
Carrying it in a casket behind,
Nurtured it and fueled it,
Fighting injustice and its kinds.
Other kids were scared,
Not realizing what it was,
They distanced her and inveighed
And tagged her ‘wierdo-of-their-class’.
Outcast,
Was all she now felt,
Conscious of the ‘curse’ she held,
So grueling to control,
Summoning every bit of her soul,
She decided to lock it away,
And join the ‘normals’ in games,
So,
She borrowed their toys
New and adventurous,
They were supposed to be.
And eager to learn, pretended she.
On a day she found,
A group of ‘outcast’,
She saw a cloud,
That expanded by a clapping sound,
Then a girl hugged it casually,
Merrily folded it
round,
The boy next to her,
Held long threads of silvery light,
He tossed it up,
Like a woolen blanket to hide.
For the first time
She found,
The place she belonged,
And ran and ran
Like a mad girl in town.
Wiping her tears,
She realized,
How much she’d missed it.
He so very much she’d missed it.
She opened the closet,
And from within it did strike
It burnt her left hand
And she was engulfed in fright.
She peeked in slowly,
It was rusted, being itself oxidized,
So angry and down.
Was weak and fragile.
She hugged it closely,
No matter how bad it hurt,
And slowly and slowly
With great perseverance and pain,
She petted the lightning again.
She knew, she was ‘special’,
A second chance she’d got,
And that one realization,
Answered all her doubts
And man she fought!
Like a ferocious beast,
In a single ruthless streak,
She beat,
All that was wrong
All that was wrong.
Cloaked under clouds,
A glimpse of her,
Made men frown,
With a tigerish peek,
And a thunderous roar,
She fiercely beat,
All that was wrong
All that was wrong.
