The cruel winter beautifully hauling snowballs, big and small—is not so Determined than the glistening hope in a pale pair of eyes Brimming in tiny droplets filled with faith and fear. The roaring wind attacking her voice with hues and cries has overcome the Tormenting alarms of an army truck but not her unshakable words amidst the Shivering chills harrowing around She is calling for her sons to be retrieved down from the graveyards, down from the frozen soil drenched in snow. Give her sons back let her see how they hitched him And then rejoice at the equal blessings he will receive Let her move on and make the speech in a dreary desert of social conventions– Meaningless & Judgemental A word after a word after a word— searching for few drops of water, then Failing in power, but sustaining— slow and steady She is calling for her daughters to be retrieved down from living grave pits of abuses down from frozen dreams full of helplessness Give her daughters back, let them see how they assigned her prosthetic purposes- to live with or die Then, let her speak of the wounds unseen and untold Her speech is not for her alone but for a stranger blaming her Inability to survive for her son, killed for choosing a beard, a name, a faith for her daughters, taught to be voiceless for a girl unable to identify her soul for a boy never taught to be Proud for his women in life Let her make the speech Amidst the harshness and strange hotness