Her ears jingled with the symphony of her mother’s lullabies,
The horizon seemed closer when daddy threw her in the air,
As innocent as the nightingale’s song of harmony and serenity,
Yet the dove was robbed of the leaf she clasped midst her beak.

Creeping in shadows- an abysmal act put on by desire itself,
The glimmer of a virgin’s aura that drives the ego insane,
Pounced like a beast with bloodshot eyes and a cupid grin,
Stroking his chapped lips with the dampness of his tongue.

Curd your lust and dare not quench your odious ravenousness,
An oasis she is not nor a slave to your grotesque pride.

Wiped off of her angelic smile with the realisation of her fate,
Her unaccepted refusal, what an oxymoron the world is,
Muffled shrieks under his fist that break the silence,
The tears that trickle down her cheeks narrate his sins.

And harder the butterfly whirls to evade the bell jar,
Striking the walls, the bruises sketch a piece of art,
What an abhorrent curse revels upon the pulchritude,
Isn’t womanhood enough misery already, the angels ponder.

Curd your lust and dare not quench your odious ravenousness,
An oasis she is not nor a slave to your grotesque pride.

Like the first autumn leaves, she lies lifeless and decolorized,
I’m the black sheep, an ambassador of shame and dishonour,
A flower she is not but a warrior ready to encounter the torment,
Her aura of purity is not stolen yet, a phoenix emerges with rage.

The beast departs and the woods quieten to deafness,
A void for redemption blazes her heart and soul,
As sinless and chaste she is, revulsion unravels upon her,
Glares at the silhouette of her body in reproach.

Veiling herself from the accusing and pitying glances,
She cries an ocean trying to find her way to sleep,
The petrifying nightmare has replaced the horizon,
The repugnant laugh still echoes in her ears until retreat.

Her mother’s song has stopped chiming her eardrums,
She no longer soars like an eagle amongst the vultures,
The wings you clipped will grow back stronger one day,
You can never isolate an angel from its luminous halo.

Curd your lust and dare not quench your odious ravenousness,
An oasis she is not nor a slave to your grotesque pride.

 

Published by Zara Shahzad