Weakness of a virgin,
Lost with its belongings,
Doesn’t lie in the overpowering,
Of the animal, which seeks,
Not the last of her shredded pieces,
But the innocence which writhes,
And squirms when solitude,
Never comes besides her again,
Life never means the same to her,
Agony and pain lost in the claws,
Of this unruly, heartless society,
Tied to a chair within the shadows,
She sits and ponders about,
The final hours before the light,
Within flickers and burns,
Speechless, lost out of words,
Society never meant to work,
Within the confines of the riches,
And the power lurks amongst the,
HUMANS who are CALLED as one,
As they were born from the womb,
Of a woman, penetrated to the,
Soul of a human, who was no less,
Than someone’s lover,
And no more than any other,
And she tries to sleep till,
The dawn comes up and the dusk,
Loses its work, but the eyes,
Were never meant to close,
In shame, in concern, scared,
That she may never wake again,
As a woman tonight died in her,
And so she lights a match stick,
And the whole room lights up,
Outlining her wet body,
Covered in blood and stains of,
Her enemy how cruelty could,
Survive on this treacherous earth,
Slowly the outline starts to fade,
And burn, and so a woman,
Once again lost among her,
World may think she is a coward,
Soul of a woman turns to dust,
No more than someone’s lover,
No less than any other.
