Special thanks to a friend for the line she added. with out your help, this poem wouldnt have been completed.
In her attire tore,
lay she on the floor.
Weeping and crying "mother".
Her face covered in her hands,
shoulders down and eyes wet,
tears rolling down her cheeks,
covered in blood and sweat.
Her lips red, not of lipstick
but of bleeding blood..
A daughter she was
A sister she was and
a hope she was.
A virgin she was but not now.
Nothing left in her,but the life,
a contaminated life of her.
Yet she lived on earth,
suffering and bearing the pain.
White in the dawn and dark in the night,
smile in the morning and grin in the dusk,
the cohesion prostituted her.
Days went past,months went past...
And again a cry was heard "mother"
this time not from her,
but from the kid in her hand.
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