Treachery by history of the worst kind
For whilst painting a picture of mankind,
History paid gratitude to kings and queens
But shunned the servitude of her kind
She pleased the Kings and their sons
Though their keep, she always kept mum
Who would have thought that one day
Adam’s Eve would be called a courtesan
Born to an impoverished womb
Her dreams, her life, set to be doomed
For they didn’t wait for puberty
Tricked her through lies of liberty
Tears flowed like a river
through her little eyes,
But father didn’t regret
Trading her little child
She gazed and dazed at her new world
Tears soon dried, as the myth unfurled
Flash of gold, silver outshone the moon
Naked unflinching fairies bathed in warm pools
Soon her face left no trace of worry
She found her family in these naked fairies
What charm do my sisters hold?
For when came the kings,
My siblings were pampered to the core
Garlanded in gold from head to toe
She danced with her siblings
Like a swan in full flow
Oblivious to the truth that all this was
nothing but just a sideshow
The King came forward to pick his keep
Then placed a tray of coins at her feet
She was soon whisked away and
and then bathed in tubs of rose and milk
Our little girl then asked the keep
‘When will I be the King’s queen?’
The keep pulled her tender hands on her breasts
‘The day you grow these, then shall come thy Prince Charming’
The wait though wasn’t long
The walls reverberated with the same song
There came the King’s men and
Took her away, to a lusty lion’s den
However, when the door opened
There was no Prince charming
Standing there was a grand old King
Like a predator, he pounced on her
Ravaged her body, drank her blood
When the eyes opened
She’d wished to be dead
Our little girl laid motionless
In her blood-stained bed
The fairies came by, picked her up
One shamelessly muttered,
‘We are no fairies, but slaves to mankind
Born to please, born to bleed
You my child, no longer a virgin’
She resigned to her fate
There were no sharing any virgin tales
For all she had become
Nothing but an object of sex
The sadists Kings then had a new passion
They’d loved to be painted
While making love to slaves
So, her pain now painted in different shades
At first, she loathed him
For here was this man
Painting her naked sin
But soon she found him to be charming
His heart was as tender as his brush
His words never spoke of lust
“I come here not to see you bleed
For like you, I’m a slave to the King
She opened up like a flower to him
In his presence, she again felt like a virgin
She pulled his hands on her breasts
Show me the love that I never felt
At first he hesitated, but then
Slowly melted his body into hers
Like a brush touches a canvas
But no one to paint his masterpiece
The porous walls heard no cries
For our woman felt the joy of her life
‘There’ll come a time, when our servitude ends
You and I can live together then
The artist took a breath an sighed
‘We shall be together but this world
Will never look at you with dignity
An object of sex, that won’t be your legacy’
So he began carving her beauty
Carving her art of love
On stones that would one day be hailed as
Temple of love
This is a land where idols are worshipped
You being idolised, is a wishful thinking
But there’ll come a pure soul
One who marvels at your beauty,
One who pays an ode to the courtesans!
Brilliant Mayur!
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Thx Miss Crazy!
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good job
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thx farooqi
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Captivating read! Well done
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