The Witch That Never Was I Poem by Arika,11,Faridabad

The Witch That Never Was

“She brings bad luck,” they whispered.

“She’s a witch.” She they thought

Her husband, once her protector,

Now Looked at her differently

The child fell ill, “All because of her “ the murmured

The fever burning through his small body,

And when he died,

Her husband’s eyes grew hard with suspicion.

The villagers agreed,

Her silence, her knowledge of herbs,

Became the signs of dark magic.

“She curses us,” they said.

“She must be a witch.”

The word spread like wildfire—

Her name no longer spoken with kindness,

But with fear and accusation.

Her every movement was questioned,

Her every gesture is seen as a spell.

The men stood in the square,

Eyes narrowed, fingers pointed,

And soon, the village became certain.

“She is the cause of our suffering.”

They came for her one night,

Torches in hand,

Her husband standing silently behind them,

Too afraid to speak.

They tied her to the tree at the village’s edge,

Accusing her of cruelty,

Of casting spells

on the land.

She did not resist,

Her heart breaking in silence,

For she had no magic to confess.

As the flames consumed her,

The village believed they had rid themselves of evil.

But when the rains still did not come,

When the crops failed for another season,

They realized the truth too late.

They had not burned a witch,

But a woman whose only crime

Was just being different.

And in the ashes,

The real curse remained

Their fear, their cruelty. 

The curse they feared Was their own.

***

Photo Credit – Copyright Free, Royalty Free images from Pexels