Just not once, the pain she had suffered,
For the nail marks you used to make,
Its the way your regular work.
And in the fine morning bright,
You washed your dirty limbs,
Left behind the cries in cage,
You dressed yourself up.
As if nothing else had happened,
As if you stood against all those crimes,
But she knew alone in her close corridors,
Your violent footsteps looted her shame.
None other than You,who gathered the crowd in favour of self,
along with a propaganda to defend yourself.
You fooled the mass,showing your empathy for her, Alone she knew,you made her dreary scars.
Even your protest going on in your posters and papers,
To show the world your solidarity with a flavour of a defendant,
You know, she knows and some shadows know the truth,
You enjoyed each night, making her a broken eggshell.
The metaphor laughs behind the curtains, watching your vague piety,
As a friend you entered and gifted her death with pride..!!