An Innocent rebel
Written by Vasundhara Singh
1692. Salem, United States of America.
Don't look back.
Your feet devoid of rest,
may give in to the pain.
Your mind, a quiet-less hoarder,
may curl up from the unrest.
Don't look back.
Your mind is venomous for their intellect.
Your soul laden with knowledge,
casts a spell on these Puritans.
Don't look back.
Or else they will tighten the rope,
They will find a taller tree.
A spectacle is all you'll ever be.
Don't look back.
The Monsoon wind chafes your skin.
The thunder bellows once again,
saluting your indomitable spirit.
Don't look back.
The morning sun glorious in its delay,
guides you to the river,
The River of death.
Don't look back.
The night remains in the past,
The stench of death follows you,
run, run before it catches you unarmed.
Don't look back.
The words frolic before your eyes.
You Blink. Blink. Blink.
Unable to satiate your thirst, one last time.
Don't look back.
They don't want you, they want your thoughts.
Run a little faster,
before they want something more.
Don't look back.
You escaped the town,
the town of Salem where
words start a war.
Don't look back.
You leave your footprints on the mud.
A legacy for innocent rebels,
those who question when no one else does.
Don't look back.
Let them call you a witch.
A witch who dreams of freedom.
A witch who will die,
before she becomes one of them.
Don't look back,
you're nearly there.
The River of death awaits you.
Don't look back.
Close your eyes and jump in.
Carry your thoughts with you,
let them ebb and flow.
Prompt 1: mud and feet
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