Draped in boundless pride
she strolled along the streets,
the town's flamboyant prima ballerina.
Still little did the debaucher know her.
Defenceless she laid
as he spanked and clouted her,
Her vehement howling and wailing couldn't stop
the yanking of clothes.
Motionless, emotionless she laid
while he plundered and mutilated her body.
Vandalised by an uninvited visitor,
Incapable of moving her body
the ravishing ballerina reclined.
The scars he made was not on her body but deep in her soul.
That gloomy night whistled away
for the sun to flare its first ray.
'18 year old violently molested and deceased'.
Hence the prima ballerina became a mere newspaper headline.

Her eyes closed only to heed scarlet red.
Her clumsy fingers clenched.
Her heart thrived to scream.
Abruptly the mind silenced her,
For she lived in India.
Marital **** is just a ritual here
And all women bare victims.

Leaves and flowers withered
Ripping off her life
Physically weak, mentally strong
Struggling each day
Creepers and tendrils kept crawling
Her life remained the same
Struggling each day
Apologising herself for being a woman
Whipping her own reputation
She survived.
Skies turned from blue to scarlet red
Yet she remained the same