Here is a story.
Not a tale of woes
nor a scourge for emotions hidden.
As I search for an opener,
and settled in to let my pen reiterate
the experiences my ears have heard,
My thoughts wandered and my pen scribed.:
Ada is a girl
The first fruit and pride of her father's loin.
Ada knew what love is
She has been cocooned in it since birth.
What she didn't know was
That every I love you
Wasn't a description of the heart's warmth.
She was unaware that it could be
a currency; a means to an end.
Ada was oblivious to the world's cruel
she was shielded from its grime
So when an uncle who should love her
took her options away;
forcefully tearing away at that
which should be hers to give freely,
marring her ideology of what
should be beautiful
And gifting her with a life full of fears.
Ada was shattered
Ada, her father's pride,
Beautiful Ada died.
In her place, Sadness was born;
She became a mass of emptiness
Today, while every one weaves
their sad experiences,
My heart remembered Ada.
To dwell on this experience
And cloak you with gloom
isn’t my aim.
But to remind you
that Ada lives in your homes.
Watch over Ada, pray for Ada!
Keep Ada away from males without honour.
Don’t let Ada die over again.