• An Old Story

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    It was men’s imagination that made her look good
    Beauty and zealousness praised
    From tongues blinded by exquisiteness,
    by overactive thoughts –
    A tribute to the maiden’s generosity.

    I say, the world has an enormous
    space for hypocrites
    “Her looks deceiving yet has served
    as refuge to the dying. Golds, jewels,
    coins strewn all!”
    was that old tale tainted
    by deluded craftsmanship.

    Their mouths’ ink left her incarcerated.

    I say, they like
    the silence of her mouth
    That her life must’ve spent
    in solitude, covering truth.

    ‘Mother nature’ is an inapt term.

    Heavy smoke of morning dew
    kept her away from what she can.

    I say, this is the real story:

    In prairies, evergreen field
    She is a tigress
    Tellers of her tales are the hunters
    Who crave meat, to eat and beat
    Whose hands and monstrous palms
    see no good in her
    For which she can’t give something
    in return will step and ravish
    Her long-time home.

    But in a foliage of air, she runs away
    What she cannot say, whisper and shout
    She now does.

    Maria, which skin shrinks in glow
    Which ages, almost to extinction
    not only waits, not always giving.

    A clean slate never soiled again.

    In her deep fit of vengeance
    the assertion
    of e

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