Saturday, August 10, 2013

She

She sat there, struck,
No smile, oh she hadn't the luck,
No tears, too much in shock,
Eyes glaring, hands clutching a rock.
'Twas her only defense,
For now, no one lived, who'd counter the offense.
Ay, now an orphan indeed,
People, what led thee, to this deed?
She is, but a young lass,
A poor one, one of the mass.
Deprived anyways of the luxuries of the rich,
Apt to neglect the worst glitch.
Must her dark world be darkened by a dark past,
She has now seen grave misdoings, their impressions shall last.
Why must her tender heart be shown cruelty,
Why now, must she witness individuality?
Whoever you are, the slayer of her beloved,
Wasn't there compassion that could have moved,
The stone heart of yours to something minutely better,
She too should have died, you should have let her.
What shall she be,
When there is no one to lift her, neither 'she', nor 'he'.