The oldest tale, the darkest time,
When marriage itself was no less a crime.
No hope, no light, no freedom to say,
Just an endless regime, no escape, no way.
A husband's name, a husband's chore,
A mistress of his—a cursed odour.
Too young to know, too soft to fight,
Enduring his sins from day to night.
Forbidden names, forbidden games,
Burned alive in deadly flames.
A bride, a widow, a Sati for all,
A human, a soul, a lifeless doll.