Broken

Broken, you might think,

In hues of blue and pink.

Puffed eyes and bleeding mouth,

She lay there, in clothes uncouth.

They abandoned her to die,

Took an eye for an eye.

What once was the sin of her dad,

Now endured it, she had.

With a blood-stained top,

And a scarf like a mop,

She dried her blood,

And went to be a tough bud.

Reverse the crime, she wanted to,

This is what she swore to do.

” No matter what the consequences be might,

I’ll save him, and hold him tight.”

She practised vigorously and fractured a rib,

This, however, did not let her will slip.

She stood up, and fought back,

Improved everything she lacked.

Year after year, the gibes enraged her,

As the day came, her stomach stirred.

She might die but never surrender,

Finally, it was her day, she remembered.

Against the seven, she fought solo,

And thought would die low.

She recognised him, a mile off,

And got up to reach the top.

They punted, she tackled

And soon threw off her shackles.

What was left of them was just one,

At the mercy, to tell how she won.

Soon, she met him,

Held him near and they fled in the dim.

Once her story was done,

We hear of her glory, how she saved her son.