A Rose of this Garden

And yet again,
A rose of this Garden died
Killed by the thorns-
The ones who never understood
The significance of her existence.

Yesterday did it bloom,
Unaware of this world
But still alive, happy and pure
Carefree, playing with her own petals,
Not knowing, at all,
If it would continue forever.

And before she ever knew,
She was in the hands of a predator
Very far away from her little, beautiful garden
Where she thought everyone was as good as her.

Got no absolute chance to voice out,
That she was yet new to this world.
Her words got muffled
And trust got broken
And in minutes that situation taught her
How heartless was this world
Outside her little garden.

In her mind, only one question
What did I do to deserve this?
What did an eleven month do?
And what did a five year old?

What did the the rose do,
To go through this unbearable pain?
When she was just playing,
And getting to know herself first.

But now she's no more alive.
Her petals are all torn
And her stem is completely broken.
With things in her which had no space for.

But will your rallies bring back the rose?
Will your candle march give him the same pain?
Will your protests calm down the rose?
Will your supportive feed fix her trust?
Will your debates bring the peace back?

Sadly, no.
Never.
Instead, the rose would laugh
At all of these people
Who pretend to be supportive
When they were never there to help
At the first place.


Stop rape before it becomes any other normal thing.

Deepalya, with love.