Somewhere in a silent lane,
Crawling through the trash -
The dirt of inhuman and feelings wasted,
Tired of physical bruises
Stolen from the self
Broken pieces and trust
"Help!", she screams,
Yet the battlefield remains unchanged;
Tomorrow is going to be the day of a namesake.
All left is still the same "NO"
To those thousand other vultures hungry
Claiming age-old culture and
The drunk Humanity
World of true Saints
Amidst the ring of fire
Fuelling by the varied "what if" and Only "don'ts"
While the evil flies freely through the blue sky,
& Only she is chained in endless questions;
Oh! the historic irony -
Stabbed by the unknown
Yet left Bleeding
From her Owns!