A forbidden story of stolen glances,
An unforgivable rebellion of stealthily-read books,
A chastened regret of lost chances,
An acquiesced voice to silencing looks.
Shrewdly smothered, the wondering murmurs of curiosity,
To eradicate any latent buds of tabooed propensity.
Then a flood of demarcating constraints of acceptability,
Like Seeta's limiting line of fire, stepping out - an impossibility.
Her veiled face, an attempt to portray lack of inquisitiveness,
The burning need within those sheaths of blurring vision.
Lessons learnt with submissiveness,
To add salt and spices with astute precision.
Pilfered hours of mutinous indulgence,
Of ventures into untrodden paths,
The intoxication of self-discovery,
Ushering in divine depths of intelligence.
Centuries of such similar chronicles later,
She rises up from her ashes like a phoenix.
Yet even after countless strides of triumphant conquests,
The world still seeks to be her violator.
