Hellfire

They tell her she’s going to hell,

For all the hurt she has

Gone through.

They tell her she’s going to burn,

For something somebody

Else, somebody cruel did.

They tell her she’s going to rot in the pits of Tartarus,

For not taking responsibility of something

She has no duty towards.

They tell her she’s going to hell,

Because she doesn’t have a choice.

For she is, after all,

A petite young girl,

Getting her nails done every month;

Wearing a pink sari with

Her pallu flying over her shoulder,

Her silky hair in braids adorned

With little red ribbons– 

What could

She do

About it?

They say, “After all the sins she’s

Committed, even hell would be

Reluctant to accept her.”

Well of course they would.

For they fear her.

A petite young girl, holding

waves of compressed seas within– 

Waves that could

Devour kingdoms and

Silence all

those within.

Her nails, as sharp

As knives–

Could rip out every

demon’s heart and

Soul,

Seize the blood

With the tips of her nails and

Drop every bead

Into her awaiting mouth.

Her pink sari on fire,

The blazing pallu lighting

Cities on fire as it

Flows behind her shoulder–

Starving for justice,

Starving for revenge.

Her silky hair flying in

The howling winds,

Strangling those who dare

Defy her.

Those red ribbons now

A deep maroon, stained with

Blood and gore.

Why shouldn’t hell be afraid of her?

She looks like the lightest breeze

On a summer morning, but

She commands the demons and

Devours their souls.

She looks like the gentlest ripple

On the ocean, but

She tames three-headed hounds.

She looks like nothing that could

Spark a flame,

But

It’s Hellfire that she’s made of.