Just like a rose, a well scented flower she shines through the neighborhood. Her ego was not that of a pride like a peacock, but a humble spirit like a sheep.
Softly softly, and gently gently she threads her path, and her songs travel even as far as to the door step of the peasant farmers. Who is the beautiful rose that soar like an eagle, clothed in a with linen that has no scarlet? A rose of Alaska, a beauty that radiates in the eyes of her suitors. A beauty bound to be submissive to her originators, and her associates.
Oh what can we call this? A white apparel has been stained, the beans is full of sand, the hair is tangled, the eyes are full of blood, the rose is shrinking. The Rose has been destroyed, shattered and nailed over and over again. The Rose bleeds and the ego has turned to fear, the apparel is no more white as snow, but it drips of blood that is red as scarlet.
This is a rape case, a life shattering moment for the victim and a joyful moment for the actor. Why should evil prevail, why should the vulnerable be punished for being harmless, why should a lady that cherishes virginity be ripped off her flower, why should rose shrink at its prime time of blossom? The actors must be punished, the law shouldn’t pass over their heads, the iron called handcuff should be put around their wrists, the dock should be their place in the court of law, the prison should be their home at last, because it’s indeed a rape case.