THREE LINES

Crouched in the corner seat,
She looks out of the window.
A crumpled shawl is all she owns,
to guard her from the December snow.

She looks somewhere, she know not where,
But in her mind she lives elsewhere.
The train whistle blows for it knows where to go.

Stiffing from the chilly wind,
for once her forehead crinkles.
And living in those three lines is a story of a lifetime.

The first line etched deeply in her forehead,
has tales of a little girl.
Who lived a life without any care,
and frowned only to get her share.

The next line deeper than first,
it has all the newer things she learnt.
Made to bear a lot of pain,
and then told that she was supposed to be that way.

Now she frowned all the time,
fighting for what she thought was right.
She was a fairy no more,
to be one she had to do what others asked for.

The last line is growing deep,
she thinks of all that was and has been.
Sees many fighting her way,
to do things they wanted to always.

Now she frowns to think hard,
to remember where she kept her train pass.
And then she frowns, no it’s a smile,
at a little girl yet to form forehead lines.