And like the name, she was beautiful;
Her neck was ever adorned in jewels,
So were her feet, in anklets.
Her beauty became a song trading lips on hills,
Across the rivers, mountains and tribes.
They composed songs with her name,
For her beauty was incomparable.
Fateful was the night it all went down,
The night that robbed her pride.
Dark it was, cloudless and silent,
It was like nature was already moaning.
They intercepted her on the way home
Tore her robes and the jewelry
Tossed her on the ground
Then finally took her innocence…
Gloomy became Blossom,
Life had been sucked out of her.
Like a bereaved mother, she wept bitterly,
The reason and meaning of life got lost to her.
She locked herself up in the attic,
In hope to eradicate the incident.
Filled her world with darkness,
Until got consumed by it.
Thinking of the easy way out of the shame,
Death beckoning her every breath she took.
She chose the rope over the shame of events,
Her limp body was all they found out on the willow