TURMOIL: HER NAME
She hoped for a better life
In her world, pleasure was rife
Her days were heralded with strife
In childhood she was scorned
Teased and thrown against the walls of jokes
She felt out of place in her skin
A camel in a dress
A dwarf on stilts
Wherever she went, she was pried upon.
Her fears rooted in disdain
Life meant only one thing to her: pain.
Turmoil, which is her name.
Men veered their advances away
Women shunned her company
And children, she was the song of their jests.
People grimaced at the mention of her name
Others disbanded when she approached.
The devil’s child, they called her
Abandoned by the woman who bore her
Denied by the man who sired her
They could not bear the canker of raising such a thing.
No home would receive her
No friend to compliment her falsely
Turmoil, her name.
They say God drives away flies from the tailless animal
But some do not attract even flies
Mocked by the mocked
She was an island of rotten vegetation
No one wanted to occupy
Hunger was her perpetual bedfellow
In her prime she leaves this perfect world.
The society is free of such a blot.
Killed by the taunts of fellow men.
Murdered by the only friends she had: pain and suffering.
Destroyed by the distress she bore.
Misery: the cloth she wore.
In death there is consolation and rest
There she eventually finds peace.
No! There is no peace for her there either.
That serenity often spoken about
She is left without.
There, under that stone she lies
Buried at night to cut all ties.
Treaded on by wicked feet.
Even in death she is tortured
A fate worse than death
Most humans are too human to be humane.
Sorrow: her other name.