A girl , A twirl,
Swirled into her teen zone,
Twirled into societal hurl,
A dismayed woman grown.
Question of beauty is boomed,
Each second to be groomed,
Makes her fumed.
Ah! Did that flower bloom?
For flight, Maiden to be slight,
Runs her breath to fit,
To fit with captious mind,
Contending the constant fight.
To be in the shower of power,
Carrying the appearance of blooming flower,
Existing with thorn’s pinches,
Just under the scale of inches.
What’s that woman’s worth?
Staying in the dirth !
Stealing glances from the devil,
To preserve her whole.
The hostile touches,
Touched the cleanest soul,
Heat of her blood rose,
Was it just the beating of a dead horse ?
The attack on honour,
Didn’t disturb any corner,
The bleakfull suicide tackled.
Then another girl twirled.