The rains entered her home without a knock
Droplets of fire in their eyes, drenched in doubt
Piles of cigarettes lay besides her bed
And picture of oceans and flames in eternity being wed
Everyone witnessed her solitude
No one said a word or let out a sigh on this fortitude
It was only whiskey, that was brave enough
To wake up in the middle of the night and make her laugh
She cradled the bottle of whiskey in her lap
Like a bundle of joy looking to be grabbed
The rains, the fire all stood still
As whiskey absorbed her soul and named her ‘his’
– Nishtha Pandey
Bleeding Parchments 