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Poem
You may think countless ticking of the clock’s hands
And eras of rainy seasons have erased the sore past
And that her silence has acquitted you of your guilt
And your gang of morbid villains is now anonymous 
And the soiled pages of her story are now burnt
And a silent victim she must remain or be shamed

Although the downpour drowned the maiden’s voice 
As you, a kinsman, blindfolded her in the open field
and led others to deep their hands in blameless blood
The stars bore silent witness to your iniquity as you
Forced open the gates to her pride on the wet grass
Your legion of lewd spirits believed this story would 
Never be told, but she saw through the fold

The years between the deed and now remain fresh
Fresh as the field where your band of wild beasts
Ambushed a bland maiden clad in amorphous  apparel 
Unbetroth, she implored that you show mercy
But you defied her unconsenting innocent cries 
With forceful thrusts fueled by youthful lust 

Now you dare to approach the very one you violated
To be a concubine because you think she has no soul
And no remembrance of the vicious stain of her purity
Your words are unable to conceal the lust in your eyes
She has a voice and will speak for herself...

Though wounded by your accursed members, I survived 
My womb denied your ejaculated seed soil to germinate 
And I stopped being a sufferer once the garden healed
But like seed sown in fertile ground, my story has ripened
My courage has grown and my voice has come of age 
I shall be silent no longer and will not remain invisible
I demand to also hear the confession of your transgression
I dare you to deny forcefully taking what I did not give
Even if the statue of justice allows herself to be unmasked 
And the people doubt my story because you dine with the king 
My unrevoked curse will accompany you beneath the earth
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