All we ever know is her
muted screams
Perfect kohl always
shimmers, but nobody seems.
The world does silence
her.
But she speaks.
Screaming with those
kohl rimmed eyes, her sighs,
The erratic gestures of
her hand
The Subtle nods of her
head
In her astute acceptance
And refined rejections
What are words to her?
But, only an ingredient
in her meal.
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