The Cry

I heard the role of a fire,
Furious when touched,
Warm of a mother when cold,
Around her gathered,
The gossips of today tomorrow 
N the Undestructible yesterday,
She dance with the song of joy,
She fight with the armour of war,
She crippled with the thought of support,
But was Misleaded-Mistreated-Misused,
She was Ripped-Teared-Scratched,
Bitten to blood.
She rose to burn,
She fight to breath,
She cried to heard. 
But the cold hands Watered her-Pinched her.
She spread Herself-Helpless-Voiceless.
Red covered her body. 
Red burned her soul.
Red was her pride,
But Red made her cry .
Red was her colour, 
But Red made her fear.
She fights the cold hands.
His hands felt the pleasure.
He desired more and gladden, 
He fullfiled his urge and pervades her soul.
The air cried with her.
The air knows her decrease.
The air dance with her body,
in the song of sorrow.
She needs the air,
She needs it desparetly,
To breath from every 
Broken piece of her heart, 
To live and to love her own flesh.
With the fierce cry,
That even pierce the ears,
of every sleeping soul.
Her body rise from the heap of blood,
Never did she felt her womb,
and the joy of birth.
For she knows his feet will never return!