Etch not unto her pliant flesh, Cruel marks of your monstrous desire, She bears your atrocities, With silent rage, Waiting to unleash her wrath. Fuss not anymore over her fate, With your deceitfully fake promises, She stands your humiliation And abuses for long, Mustering courage to face this war. Judge not her breast, not her hip; It's your mind that is mired with filth. She's not an object of lust, She's the nature! Even nature can turn violent too. Her silent Wrath
