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Is a woman's body nothing but a battler ground? The poet writes; the battle cries reverberate, hail the honour, vengeance, pride. A lesson, warning, payback time, her body, is a convenient site.
Hidden, concealed, her breath a whisper,
Eyes alert, scanning, aware.
For she is wise, has seen the others,
Everything was stripped, vacant, bare.
The flames are high, licking away,
Voracious appetites that cannot be filled.
Devouring, and consuming, the ashes rise,
Charred bodies, blackened hills.
She knows, she sees, she hears them clearly,
Coming for her, incensed, enraged!
Shrieks of fury, frantic eyes,
A faceless mob, a war, has been waged.
The relentless sun, she shivers though,
A heart that hammers wild and fast.
Who are they? She has not seen it before.
Deadened eyes, frozen masks.
Revealed! The hideout safe no more,
A dozen desperate hands descend,
Groping, pulling, striking hard,
Another one, another end.
The clothes that lie in tattered bits,
Her hair was in fistfuls by the side.
The battle cries reverberate,
Hail the honour, vengeance, pride.
A lesson, warning, payback time,
Her body, is a convenient site.
A battlefield, them and us,
A pawn to set the record right.
Why me? Her dying eyes, they ask,
I know you not, I know them not.
Your blood, a cleansing of their sins,
Collateral in this war we fought!
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Rrashima is a senior corporate analyst with over 20 years of experience in the corporate sector. She is also a prolific writer, novelist and poet and her articles, stories and poems are regularly published in read more...
This post has published with none or minimal editorial intervention. Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
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