Wicked Witch of the West

                                               

Her hair free, wild and dark,

like the rain-filled clouds. 

Wide dark eyes and red-coated mouth. 

Her smile crooked, her laughter loud. 

She by no means is a lady. 

She can keep no man and bear no child. 

Her father's expectations far too high, 

She tries and tries, without uttering a cry

Her hands - battered and calloused

From climbing the ladder to reach the top. 

They laughed when she slipped, 

Her hand grasping the air, trying not to fall

Alas, she fell. Their laughter taunting her. 

But she didn't die. 

She rose up all red, covered in her own blood. 

Smiled at their disgusted faces. 

She didn't care anymore for them, 

Only she mattered to her. 

Her feet were twisted backwards they said, 

As she walked a path different from them. 

No more along with them but ahead. 

Her hands were long they said, 

As she got what she wanted. 

She laughed at them,

Enjoying their disgusted, disappointed faces. 

She whispered her story to her reflection, 

In that dusty, old, broken mirror, 

Of her haunted house. 

"They never care and neither should you"

Her hoarse whisper was heard, 

As she reached out to her reflection.

And from the other side of the mirror, 

I reached out to her. 

Our bloody hands touched. 

Our cackle echoed.

- Sanwayee Dey