Scent of a Woman

Drop by drop accumulating,
Congealed.
What is she made of?
Debased mud.
Sucking on her blood,
What do they want from her?
Sacrifice.
How does it feel? she asks her heartless assailants.
How does it feel to suck on cold, clotted, dead blood?
How does it feel to rag an already weary soul?
They do not answer.
They are too insatiable to even hear her question them.
There it goes, in their voracious bodies, her spirit, her essence.
Exhausted, she tried crying, for help, sympathy, pity;
As it is they had smashed her ego, her virtues long before.
Who would hear her in a biased and hollow enclosure?
Who amongst an array of inhuman beasts would care?
Knowing the answers to her dreadful questions,
She still waits for a miracle.
Is it a sin to share the same scent as flowers, butterflies and nature’s other delicacies?
Is it her fault or her misfortune?
Is this what life is for a woman?
Miracles are scarce, yet she longs for one.
Hope is acute, yet she clings on to it.
She is devoid yet her tears won’t stop;
She is callous yet she longs to smile.
One day she sees a shadow lurking in her dark room.
She cringes in a corner to avoid any more violence.
A voice booms and she smiles.
She conforms without any thought, any defiance.
She closes her eyes and surrenders her soul;
Only this time her soul is gently taken away to another world..her world
Peaceful and serene, giving her the healing that cures her soul and returns her true
Scent of a woman.