In the Silhouette of the Tea Bushes
The long distant siren howled from the tea factory;
Bringing the busy calloused hands of the workers to stop their duty.
A young woman rested her basket on the ground;
And wiped the sweat off her forehead as she sat down.
Her heavy breath slowed down to settle;
As she drank the last sip of water from her bottle.
The cold earth laden with tea bushes many;
Stretched far and wide all along the valley.
As she looked towards the setting sun;
Another day's gone and life seemed to burn.
The faint evening breeze brushed her perspiring face;
As if comforting her aching body with a tender pace.
A vibrant winged butterfly came fluttering to rest on her knees;
As if reminding her of those old colourful dreams.
Hopes and aspirations she had many;
All crushed by the profound expectations of reality.
She was in her mid twenties;
Yet the wrinkled showed her like she was in her forties.
A failed family, a broken home, and an untreated illness hollowed her;
A meager wage always finds it hard to provide enough for people like her.
Her fatigued muscles pained and her frail bones ached;
The sore on her feet kept pulsing, as if being stabbed.
Her head swooned as darkness engulfed her;
She collapsed upon the trodden grass which embraced her.
Few workers left behind noticed her;
As they hurriedly rushed to check upon her.
She was gone just like the wind;
A lifeless body was all that remained.
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By Vaskar Thapa
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