The Unspoken Struggle




In whispers heard, they often say,
"She's distant, rude, and keeps away."
A smile, a rare sight on her face,
They label her with hasty grace,
As haughty, cold, in their display.

Yet, who dares dive in deeper still,
To seek the secrets, her eyes conceal?
Do they bear marks of shattered dreams,
Or scars from harsh, unkind extremes?
Words, like lashes, whip and chill.

Those who should embrace with care,
Instead, with cruelty, they tear,
Her ears besieged by hurtful cries,
As kindness from their tongues denies,
When her heart seeks the pure, the rare.

How can we expect her to conform,
To be social, in the midst of storm?
When they know not the paths she's tread,
Let's not judge with words misread,
Lest we add to her hidden mourn.

A plea to all, with hearts so stern,
Respect the boundaries they discern,
In each life, let troubles reside,
Wrapped within, where secrets hide,
For unwelcome judgment, let us unlearn.

-Chippy Mohan 


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