A Daughter's Revenge - Poem

Updated on November 2, 2018
Senoritaa profile image

Rinita is a creative writer, with focus on poetry. She delves into several forms including Haiku/Senryu, Sonnets, Free Verse, and Prose.


A fictional tale narrated through poetry, this story is about family bonds, skin colors, the importance of education, and most of all, grit and will power.

If Krishnaa was real
If Krishnaa was real | Source

The Poem

Part I

She was named ‘Krishnaa’, for dusky was her skin

She lived with her father, down the fertile hill

On the field he toiled dawn through dusk, while

Krishnaa learned her alphabets, with no time to kill

Agile tree-climber, the ten-year-old was

To the free village school, she walked a mile

Her study was the shade of the banyan tree

Solitude of a thick branch, away from the wild guile

And so, they lived, father-daughter duo

Singing merrily the jolly tune of love

At nightfall, they slumbered dreamlessly

While stars bestowed blessings from above

Part II

Krishnaa was twelve, when Satan came as human

Tore apart the village, took away all the girls

New rule established, under the Devil’s order

Krishnaa hid her sobbing face, behind her thick curls

Her old man begged, wailed and wept

“Don’t take my daughter, I’ll do anything”

They merely scorned, with a mirthless laugh

“Now to your empty house, you may cling”

The field workers turned into bonded slaves

All their patches of land snatched away by fraud

Not a wage, the lads burned their skins

And pined for their daughters, still praying to God

Part III

The girls were sorted by the color of their skin

Fair ones boarded a ship towards strange tides

Krishnaa, among a few others left behind

Stood frozen on the land, bidding tear-less goodbyes

Dark-skinned girls were given a darker corner

At the palatial household of the new ruler

One meal a day, and household slavery

Destined they were, to the days crueler

She sobbed on the damp sheet, for nights together

Longing for her father’s arms, but her brain sharper

Imagining terrible things of her fair comrades

Ruefully thanked her skin, which turned shades darker

Part IV

Turning twenty-one, she looked back one day

She was the only slave who could read and write

Assigned she was to cleaning the library

Of books never read, subdued with a look of trite

Soon she was master of fiction bold

Her life-story-likes styled with breath bated

Her despair she could no longer hold

Opportune moment she quietly awaited

One starless night, the moment came

Out were the leaders, emptied the house hence

Few friends slept away, fatigued from the day

Krishnaa’s agile body crept through the fence

Part V

She ran through the fields, barefoot and weak

Her mind swept to her father’s smiling face

There she couldn’t venture, that she knew

Journeying to the city was her only saving grace

She ran through the forest, weary but willed

Across the dense trees, the river lay

If only she could cross, for low was the tide

Escape she could from this mindless foray

Lakes she swam with ease as a girl

A river’s width was a daunting task

She held her father’s imaginary hand

And dove head first into the black river mask

Part VI

Another ten years passed swiftly

Oh, the things she had seen!

Knocked every door in the city, but turned

Until fate led her to the kindly Queen

Queen was her name, who employed Krishnaa

Taught her independence, and the laws

Brought the village innocence up to the speed

Of breaking from the clutches of the new rule’s jaws

Krishnaa, the advocate, behind her pince-nez

Gathered up her courage and her wits one day

Set off to the village she had once called ‘home’

Rebellious against the ominous clouds grey

Part VII

Soon the cunning rulers were sent behind bars

Krishnaa fought tooth and nail, had them doomed

The ‘new rule’ overturned, peace returned

To the battered countryside, and flowers bloomed

Now was the time, to look for her father

She searched for the little mud house, and its glow

There it was, shattered but held somehow

A tiny lamp flickered, through the misshapen window

Weary old eyes looked up at her dusky face

Wrinkled arms bound her tight, moments flew

“We are free”, she whispered behind her sobs

The lined visage smiled, as it bade adieu

© 2018 Rinita Sen


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    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      9 months ago

      Thank you, Mona. Appreciate your visit.

    • grand old lady profile image

      Mona Sabalones Gonzalez 

      9 months ago from Philippines

      This is a story told with eloquence. I enjoyed it very much.

    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      19 months ago

      Thank you for sharing that aspect, Tim. Yes, I agree even in so called developed and urban settings the powerless have to go through several struggles to make their mark. How I wish things were different, but they aren't. Maybe some day, things will change, at least let's keep the hope alive through our work. Thank you again, appreciate you sharing your story.

    • Tim Truzy info4u profile image

      Tim Truzy 

      19 months ago from U.S.A.

      Hi, Rinita Sen,

      I should elaborate a bit. The story you told seems so familiar, even in richer countries where women are supposedly given more freedom. They may not come with guns and tools of torment, but they twist, tie, and unravel laws in order to continue to keep the powerless from the structures of power and influence. And to what end?

      Eventually recalling they have daughters, sisters, and nieces who suffer as well.

      Your narrative poem made me think of my four sisters who have encountered challenges just trying to gain respectability in their fields.

      God bless your talent.

      Much respect and admiration,


    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      19 months ago

      Thank you, Tim. Glad you could find meaning between the spaces. That was one of the intentions - to convey without telling. Am happy you visited today, thanks again.

    • Tim Truzy info4u profile image

      Tim Truzy 

      19 months ago from U.S.A.

      Hi, Rinita Sen,

      Beautiful story told through verse. So many truths in those lines, so many truths between the spaces in your words.

      Eloquent ending.

      I loved it.

      Thank you.



    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      20 months ago

      Thank you, Rajan. Glad you visited and appreciated the story. Have a great weekend.

    • rajan jolly profile image

      Rajan Singh Jolly 

      20 months ago from From Mumbai, presently in Jalandhar, INDIA.

      How powerfully you weave fiction through poetry. The plight of many many poor girls you have highlighted so well. A very touching end!

    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      20 months ago

      Thank you, Dana. You are too kind. Yes, we could all do well to take a moment and remember the sacrifices of those before us, and be hopeful we and our next generations do not have to go through similar situations again. Thanks again Dana, it is always great to see you my friend.

    • Dana Tate profile image

      Dana Tate 

      20 months ago from LOS ANGELES

      There are no words that could express this gem, fiction blanketed with truth. The cruelty in the hearts of some will always be a mystery to those who are decent.

      However, you have shown something that I have come to understand about life- which is- great change usually came after the pain and suffering of others. We are the recipients of a better life because those before us paved the way. If we thought of that more often, our hearts would be more grateful.

      This is an amazing piece of work!


    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      20 months ago

      Thank you, Shimmering Dawn. Grateful for your kind comment. Yes, the ones that boarded the ship, terrible outcomes that were untold. Thanks again for reading dear friend.

    • shimmering Dawn profile image


      20 months ago

      Oh my darling girl, you brought tears to my eyes.i wish many had the same fate as Krishna, especially those that boarded the ship. You have outdone yourself. Keep writing my friend.

    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      20 months ago

      Thank you, Doris. Yes, things are the same wherever humans dwell. I sure share your hope of a future where equality and love might prevail. Glad you visited today.

    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      20 months ago

      Thank you for your heartfelt comment, manatita, and your observations. Yes, things are pretty much this way everywhere, even in this century. Maybe more implicit these days, but human beings have been wired in such a complex way that somewhere almost everyone has that prejudice. You are right about God sending certain souls for specific tasks. I think we all have one, but fail to recognize it. Thank you again, and hope all's well.

    • MizBejabbers profile image

      Doris James MizBejabbers 

      20 months ago from Beautiful South

      Your story told in verse is so heartfelt, and the poetry is beautiful. It is too bad that people are saved or slaved by the color of their skin. It seems that all continents have similar stories to tell. I look forward to the day when all humans can live together in peace and love.

    • manatita44 profile image


      20 months ago from london

      NB This colour prejudice is as bad in some parts of India as it is with us, perhaps much less, but nevertheless evident, in the Caribbean. I feel that it is caught up with colonisation and 600 years of slavery, although, I also feel, that man has always in some form or another, been unkind to himself and others. A part of being human, perhaps. Who knows the play of the Lord? Salaam!

    • manatita44 profile image


      20 months ago from london

      What a beautifully written, poignant and heart-felt story. I know intuitively of these things and much more. Frightening to think that so much of this still exists in the 21st century.

      So wonderful that she broke free and came back. I kept thinking through the story that nothing is random. God sends special souls into certain circumstances, so that they can be of service. Isn't Love wonderful? Hari Om Tat Sat!

    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      20 months ago

      Thank you, Verlie. I consider the story well told if it made you cry. Happy to see you, my friend.

    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      20 months ago

      Thank you, Mark. Glad you were entertained. Always good to see you.

    • snakeslane profile image

      Verlie Burroughs 

      20 months ago from Canada

      Oh! This made me cry, such an amazing story, deftly poetically writ. Wonderful Rinita!

    • Mark Tulin profile image

      Mark Tulin 

      20 months ago from Santa Barbara, California

      A sizzling narrative poem that pulled me into the little girl's story every step of the way. Entertaining and powerful.

    • Senoritaa profile imageAUTHOR

      Rinita Sen 

      20 months ago

      Thank you, John. We share similar thoughts, as in this is my favorite genre, too, and I am hopeful as I grow as a poet this could become my niche.

      The story that you shared about the aborigines is horrifying! I am sure there are similar stories across countries, shamefully true in my country as well. Although this is fictional, it is well that it resonates with facts, that's why we are here, to spread the word. Glad to see you again, my friend.

    • Jodah profile image

      John Hansen 

      20 months ago from Queensland Australia

      Oh what a delightful story/poem, Rinita (my favouite kind.) The trials Krishnaa went through but she was strong and persevering and never gave up. This sounds similar to some of Australia's shameful history in regard to our Aboriginal people and what is called 'the stolen generation." Many aboriginal children (especially light skinned) were taken from their families and taken to "schools" for want of a better word, before being placed with white families to be raised. Only a few years ago did our Government issue an apology.


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