The w***e of BeliskA Poem by MANIPADMA Sometime back I had tried a ballad, correction- something like a ballad but I know a lot lot lot needs to be learned and desired. Open to corrections, suggestions and damnation. Belisk a quaint town up the hills Toasted by maidens fair Children, towns men , markets and games Heaven on earth, ‘tis here
Of them the fairest was a w***e Fallen angel, poor brave soul Pride of Belisk, maidens did loathe Loved by men , good and foul
And then came marching, they from the east Devil’s men, cloaked in red Tales of horror spread far and wide Doom seemed to lie ahead
Their sights on Belisk sadly lay Peace was now a history Messengers of death, robbers all Their origins a mystery
All wasn’t lost , an angel they had True to her motherland The w***e of Belisk, offered her self “Leave them, take my hand”
The soldiers jeered and tore her skirt “Look a harlot from the town!” Grabbed her hair and kissed till she bled “Morrow you’ll all go down”
The wench pleaded, tried on her charms “If you must , a month more Pray be given to us O’ Lords “ “Month” they said , “but, no more”
Ripped and raped, bitten and beaten There besides the barrows Bravely she bore her wounds of fate While cowards played heroes
A week to the month and she fell Taking with her the men Drained and disarmed they lay thither Knowing not the cause then
One look by their wizened old man Trembled, shaken with dread “Hark, you accursed, she brings the plague All ye will soon be dead!”
Among the bodies, there she lay Alone even in death Battered face stained with tears, Belisk A name in her dying breath © 2015 MANIPADMAReviews
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