What Was Her Fault?
By Afzal Ahamed Malik
In a silent home where whispers grew,
Lived a girl the world never truly knew.
Educated, gentle, heart so wide,
But in a cage, she had to hide.
No selfies, no reels, no late-night phone,
She walked this earth, yet was alone.
Her dreams were pure, her ways were kind,
But cruel were the chains that bound her mind.
Relatives, like wolves in silken wear,
Spoke of customs with poisoned care.
Aunties laughed, with venomous grace,
Manipulating her father’s face.
“Not from our clan,” they’d loudly scoff,
And every good match, they turned off.
While boys were free to fly, to choose,
She was stitched into a life she’d lose.
"Why no job?" the taunts would sting,
"Why no wedding, no diamond ring?"
She bore the jabs with silent grace,
But sorrow carved her gentle face.
Her heart broke slow, like falling rain,
Each taunt a drop, a pulse of pain.
Till blood rose high, and breath sank low,
To the hospital, they let her go…
But she never came back through that door,
Her story ended on a sterile floor.
What was her crime? What was her sin?
To live too softly in a world of grin?
Her father wept, still held in chains,
Blinded by his sister’s gains.
Black magic ropes and guilt-fed ties,
Built of silence, tears, and lies.
The jealous cried, but just for show,
Their drama staged, their grief hollow.
For years they fed on her delay,
Now stood in white to mourn and pray.
Her mother, trapped in old-age games,
Used as shield for family shames.
Her siblings stand with hollow hearts,
Their world torn wide, in shattered parts.
She lives in photos, in unsaid words,
In rustling leaves, in passing birds.
Every second, every breath,
They feel her absence, deeper than death.
Let the world ask, let silence revolt—
We’ll keep asking:
What was her fault?