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By Mauurya Desai

The grey clouds engulf the bright sunny skies,

Those have fallen silent who once considered themselves wise,

It seems as if the old gent had formed for once an accurate surmise,

The woman who fought for the right now painfully dies.

Rivers have stopped flowing, birds have stopped chirping,

Air has stopped blowing, leaves have stopped rustling,

The only thing in rapid declining motion is the heart of her,

She, who was stabbed and subjected to sanguinary murder.

I told her, even threatened her, to not interfere,

In this path I chose to follow for reasons unclear,

Realizing I was rigged by what I believe was a manipulative chevalier,

I discern the stain I have made on my purity by performing a transgression so severe.

Oh, I can’t imagine what she must be feeling,

She must have felt her painful death unappealing,

I thought I would hear her shouting and squealing,

But she died in vain acceptance, her feelings unrevealing.

She, who was faultless and ever righteous,

The one who was considered to be the oracle and virtuous,

She, who made all else feel solitary and oblivious,

The one who made me commit a crime so horrid and ignominious.

By Mauurya Desai

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