The Battle Within: A Tale Of An Ordinary Woman

Where the sun rises first,
A girl The Battle Within: A Tale of an Ordinary Woman was born.
In jasmine fields,
She danced like a monsoon peacock.

A little princess
In her adobe home,
A free bird
In endless skies.

Youth bloomed
Like a lotus, pure.
Her heart secure,
Her dreams reborn.

She dreamed of love—
A ring, a promise,
A Prince Charming
On a white horse,
A future with wings
She had yet to wear.

She felt herself
An untouched princess,
Yet did not know
She was raised
As a paraya dhan.

Still she soared,
Still she dreamed,
With open heart
And eyes wide to the sky.

The little bird thought
She’d finally slipped free
From the cage of her childhood—
Released too early,
Too fragile,
But ready to fly.

She didn’t yet know
That fate was waiting,
Quiet and cruel,
To lead her from
One cage
Into another—
A freedom promised,
A freedom never given.

Yet marriage came
With many quiet clippers—
And slowly,
One by one,
Her wings were trimmed away.

She fell to the ground,
Lost beneath the weight
Of the dreams she once carried.

Still, she rose each time—
Brushing off the dust,
Gathering whatever courage
Her heart could find,
And trying once more to move.

She died a little every day,
Yet somehow remained alive—
Breathing, walking,
Enduring,
Even when her spirit
Was breaking.

Targeted with arrows
On her tender, restless heart,
Days turned to months,
And months to years—
Each one cutting a little deeper.

Her soft, young heart
Wept and wept,
Until the memory of smiling
Slipped away from her face.

Then two little beautiful birdies
Flew into her world,
And she dreamed of shielding them
From every clip,
Every cage,
Every wound she had known.

But still,
She died a little each day—
Yet somehow remained alive,
Holding on for them,
Even when her own wings
Had forgotten how to rise.

While growing up,
There was only one lesson
Carved into her days—

You are a girl,
So learn to tolerate.
No matter what happens,
Stay calm, stay quiet,
And keep the new family happy.

A childhood taught in whispers
Of endurance over truth,
Silence over self,
And peace bought
At the cost of her own heart.

Years went by,
And the little bird grew—
Busy fighting monsters
No one else could see,
Busy raising her own
Tiny birdies with trembling wings.

But the battles were many,
And the anger kept piling up,
Stone after stone
On a heart already tired.

And on the hardest days,
The poor little birdies
Felt the heat of storms
That were never meant for them—
Only the echoes
Of wounds she never asked for.

At night,
When her hidden monster slept,
The little bird finally wept—
Repenting,
Loathing herself,
Again and again
In the darkness she knew too well.

But with the morning,
The monster returned,
Shoving the little bird aside,
Claiming her breath,
Her voice,
Her sky.

And so each day,
She died a little more—
Yet somehow
Remained alive,
Fluttering on
With a strength
She never knew she had.

The two little birdies grew,
Strong and brave,
Seeing the truth,
Standing by her side.

The little bird
Received the gift
Of a lifetime—
Two angels,
Sent by the skies.

The little bird
Tried her best
To heal the wounds,
To start again,
To let her heart
Float on joy.

The two little mighty birdies
Tried to pull her close,
To fight the monster back,
To remind her of the sky
She once dreamed of.

And with their gentle wings beside hers,
She grew stronger
Day by day—

Even though each day
She died a little,
She was still alive,
Still rising,
Because they believed she could.

Yet she cannot free herself
From the monster
That lives in the scars of her mind.
To the world, she seems bold and shining,
But inside, her heart trembles—
Weeping, aching,
Ready to break open.

Her wings, clipped again and again,
Never learned to grow back.
And every day she died,
Yet somehow remained alive.

She lacks the strength to soar—
Each time she tries,
Fear of the unknown
Pulls her back into the shadows.

She does not know
What keeps her caged;
Only that the little bird within
Still flutters, cries, and moans,
Too frail to fly.
And every day she died,
Yet still alive.

The two little birdies
Offer her all their courage,
But her paralyzed heart
Refuses to move.

She debates what is right,
What is wrong,
Begging for a guiding light
As days, months, and years drift by.
And every day she died,
Yet still alive.

She’s tired of blaming herself,
Tired of being buried
Under the weight of confusion.

No hope, no joy,
No feeling left inside.
She wonders why she still breathes—

Dead in spirit,
Yet moving,
Just moving,
In a body that lives.
Fully dead
But still alive.

She made peace
With the monster
Hiding deep within.

But each day it strikes—
A shadow across her chest,
Punishing
Every thought
Of being too harsh
On her two little birdies.

Her heart dies a little
With every remembered beat,
Yet the monster waits,
Whispering,
Always waiting.

Alive she walked,
But hollowed out—
More ghost than breath,
More silence than song.

She carried the weight
Of being
A mother who faltered—
A sentence etched
By her own trembling hands.

Knowing she could never rewind
Her little birdies’ childhood,
Never return
The moments stolen
By fear,
By pain,
By the monster she could not tame.

And so she lived,
Dying a little each day,
Haunted not by the dark outside,
But by the shadows
She thought she cast
Upon those she loved most.

While raising her two little birdies
With a monster inside,
She cared for her aging parents
Day and night.

Then came the choice—
Her life or theirs.
She did not hesitate;
She flipped her world,
Gave herself 120 days
Only to hear:
“You are a girl,
You don’t belong to us.”

The little bird broke the most
In her life.
She cared for them
Day and night,
With all her money
And all her might.

She begged for love
For her two little birdies,
Only to meet
A wall of rejection—
Cold and absolute,
Echoing in the silence of her heart.

She saw herself
In the mirror,
And for the first time
Spotted another monster within—
A monster growing old with age,
Laughing at her
For not seeing it before.

This day she decided
To break all chains,
To undo all locks,
And live for herself,
For those who love her.

Guilt weighed heavy
To leave the old ones behind,
Yet she whispered to herself—
No one who hates
The pieces of her heart
Deserves her worry
Or her sweat.

A great battle rose
Within her heart—
Duty on one side,
Her own life on the other.

Which to choose,
Which to let go…
The question burned through her
Like a quiet, endless storm,
A weight no soul
Should ever have to bear.

The little bird
Began dying again,
Piece by fragile piece,
Whispering to the Almighty
For help—

For strength
To breathe,
For light
To return,
For wings
To lift her
One more time.

A single drop of hope
Beats faintly
In her wounded heart.
But confusion rules her days,
Tugging her
In every direction.

She prays for the world,
Yet fears to pray for herself,
Waiting for the Almighty
To secure her soul
For a lifetime.

Decades passed,
Yet she still calls herself
The little bird—
For her heart never aged,
Only bled.

Clinging to youthful dreams,
Grieving years she never lived,
Wondering always
If miracles choose certain souls.

Though she breathes,
She longs to live—
To feel her spirit dance
Like light on an open sky.

And she asks,
Through tears that fall unseen:
“Is there a God
Who saves little girls like me?”

No expectations remain,
No dreams survive—
Only one wish:
To mend the fractures
In her broken heart,
To breathe without fear,
To taste freedom
Just once.

And in her next life,
She hopes to live fully—
So she will not be dead
While she is alive.

For now,
She wanders like a ghost—
A hollow shell
With a quiet pulse.
No ripples stir her heart;
No spark rises to the surface.

She asks the sky:
Why must I endure
This cruel façade—
Alive in name,
Yet hollow within?

But in the very next breath
She reminds herself:
Under this vast sky,
She is still far more blessed
Than the sorrow
Trying to claim her soul.

To walk the earth
While feeling nothing,
To scream silently
Beneath the sun—
This is the life
Of the little bird
Who died each day,
Yet somehow
Remained alive.

She chose, at last,
To live for herself,
Not for those
Who treated her
Like she was nothing.

Her heart is scarred,
For even the ones
Who brought her into this world
Had used her for years.

Yet she is grateful
To finally see the truth,
Even halfway through life.

Now she knows,
Deep and clear—
She belongs to herself,
And only herself.

At this bend in her life,
She pauses and wonders
Where to begin again.

Her hands are tired,
Her spirit worn—
No spark left
To guide the way.

Yet in the quiet,
A small truth lingers:
Even without strength,
A new beginning
Still waits for her.

She carries so many
Buried dreams.
Now she wonders—
Should she dig them up,
Hold each one in her hands,
See which still breathes,
And which must return
To the quiet earth?

The thought of digging
Makes her feel faint.
She has shut the windows
Of her dreamland
Again and again,
Letting fate decide her path.
Now she stands still,
Waiting to see
What unfolds.