The crowd counted her,
Lass of provident.
Only she knew that she’s a Regina,
Of forced regiment. 

The luscious, luminous lurex
Brought her no jubilation.
All she prayed for is that arms,
Which embraces her giving liberation.

Though, she’s an impeccable carved
Slayer, shimmering
And her  tone pristine a sonorous 
But still, her heart implores deeply
For him, the searchlight of her prisoned 
desires,  to fit in. 

Seema Marzook

I worry less about fitting into glass slippers and focus more on shattering the glass ceilings.


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