Ann Marie Hansraj 

 Her Return

She walked in alone,

a shadow of strength wrapped in silence,

bearing the weight of whispers unseen

the past lingering like smoke in the air.

Eyes pierced her skin,

curious, cold, judgmental,

etching questions they dared not ask aloud:

Who is she? Why is she here?

They spoke of her,

not knowing it was she standing there.

She was eye-catching,

no eyes could miss her beauty,

the sophistication woven seamlessly

with simplicity and grace.

Her humble ways shimmered quietly,

yet the energy of her presence

lit up the room like dawn breaking.

They gossiped,

voices laced with venom,

forgetting truth has a way

of slipping through cracks.

How quick they were to cast stones

at what they didn’t understand.

Then she stood face to face

with an aunt who remembered

joy unveiled itself like dawn breaking.

Their laughter shattered the hush,

turning suspicion into shame.

One by one, they lowered their eyes,

their words folding in on themselves.

This was the woman

they washed their mouths with,

the one they abandoned,

dismissed as "never enough."

But here she was,

more than they had dreamed,

more than their limited minds imagined.

She had climbed mountains alone,

built empires from ashes,

and still, her heart remained soft,

untouched by bitterness.

They bowed their heads,

not in reverence, but in regret,

for their words had betrayed them,

and now truth stood unshaken before them.

Her journey was never about revenge,

but triumph

the quiet, sacred kind

that blooms within the soul.

And as they watched her walk on,

humble yet fierce,

they learned this truth:

No fire born of judgment

can consume a spirit that refuses to break.

Omatee Ann Marie Hansraj 

Annmariewrites.com 

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