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You committed a sin,
And now your faith is sealed.
The old man said crying,
Trembling with fear.
He was scared of the future near.
The worst would be a burden to carry.
She was deemed impure,
Given into the lures
Of something which was warning to heed.
How she wished someone would take her stead.

Maybe that’s why she sat writing a note,
A blade in one hand.
Ink in the other.
Impervious to the circumstances.
She should have been imperious maybe.
But all the ink wouldn’t explain,
What gave her dark art leverage.
She wasn’t gullible, or drowning.
She was smart, empowering.
But no one knew,
Or asked.
Anonymous she might die at last.
She slit her wrists,
Blood drips down.
Angst flows through her veins.
Oh how relieving as the aggrieved soul drains.
Drop by drop, impurities turned to purity.
Cage to freedom.
And suicide to life.
And she escapes.
Judge her as much as will,
But your drunk life ridden eyes
won’t see her case.
And so…. She escapes.

She explains why, but I’ll never understand.

Now you stay, she left.
We hear cries of her family.
You hear their pain.
But at least she is happy now,
Somewhere away from this loathed town.
She escapes. Repeats the third person.
Again and again with regret.
She escapes. She escapes.
-Sabah Batul

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