y Ron Low
As you tread over Azra's grave, may you pause and cry.
Upon her marble marker slab let a tear fall from your eyes.
In the daylight of your world she too was once a soul,
A beautiful flitting butterfly dancing to and fro.
Born on the dark side of the world
Marked for death since she was a girl
Coy on her mother's lap, her father's song of joy,
Her fiery black eyes, too soon noticed by the boys.
Innocent affection quickly shifts to spring's desire.
A coiled snake stole her honor. His venom burned like fire.
The snake slipped back into his nest
But his tongue would have no rest.
The snake slipped back into his nest
But his tongue would have no rest.
Pointless pleas for silence; the boy's voice bore so much weight.
No one would question his deeds, but his words sealed her fate.
Azra was a caged bird; her family's silent shame,
Beheaded by her zealous father. Will her blood cleanse his name?
Born on the dark side of the world
Marked for death since she was a girl
Blood-soaked hair and lifeless eyes. Her soul would never gaze
Upon her father's empty heart as brutality earned him praise.
Mother did not dare to mourn; exhibit grief as parents do.
No cloak for her sun-scorched heart. No justice to pursue.
The serpent sleeps within its nest
But its fangs will never rest.
