The matter was simple-
A matter of two strands of hair,
And a piece of cloth over her head,
But the blow was fierce-
The blow of injustice and cruelty,
Fierce enough to take her life.

And she was just twenty two-
Yes, she was twenty two,
An age of becoming,
An age when one sheds the hangover of being a teen,
And starts looking at the world with a new found happiness,
With the eyes of a dreamer still setting foot on earth,
With a smile brighter than the new moon,
With a heart savoring the sunshine and shadows alike,
Yes, she was just twenty two,
But her heart stopped forever,
Leaving only the memories of a beautiful flower behind.

The last glimpse she got was not of the beautiful moonlit mountains around her,
But of a damp valley deprived of a single ray of light.
And the blow was fierce,
Crushing all her dreams into ashes,
As if they were never born,
The blow of injustice and utmost cruelty,
Leaving her lips slightly apart,
As if there was one last question held in them.. unanswered.

And the matter was simple-
A matter of two strands of hair,
And a piece of cloth over her head.



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