Amara gripped the hilt of her sword, the only man among the Queen's elite guard. Tonight, they infiltrated the Sultan's harem.
Moonlight glinted off the polished metal of their identical masks, a silent vow. Doubt gnawed at Amara—fear of discovery, of failing these fierce women.
But then, her eyes met Captain Zoya's, and a steely resolve mirrored back. In that shared look, Amara found courage. They weren't just warriors; they were sisters tonight.
What women wander?
Not many. All. A few.
Most would, now and then,
No wonder.
Some, and I’m one,
Wander, sitting still.
My small grandmother
Bought from every peddler
Less for the ribbons and lace
Than for their scent.
Of sleep where you will,
Walk out when you want; choose
Your bread and your company.
She warned me, “Have nothing to lose.”
She looked fragile but had
High blood, runner’s ankles,
Could endure, endure.
She loved her rooted garden, her
Grandchildren, her once
Wild once young man.
Women wander
As best they can.
About the Creator
Bishnu Kumar
Passionate writer weaving poetry and fiction into captivating tales. Exploring emotions, imagination, and storytelling on Vocal Media. Join me on this literary journey of words and creativity!
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