Aurat.
Woman brought us to the Earth, but man will take us out; ruled by ego and insecurities, he shoots…
Born with an acid tongue, you launched verbal attacks that ended careers.
Like burn victims in India, you lashed out to defend perceived threats against your honour.
Sonic boom—the sound of each blow landing like atomic bombs in Hiroshima.
Nagasaki even knew you created more casualties than Iwo Jima.
Instead of saliva, you spit genocide, each word its very own Holocaust.
Casual remarks were like concentration camps, reuniting divided families in chambers gassed.
Vocal terrorism, with every sentence ending in beheading.
The scars you left were like brands by iron rod on broken hearts.
“Sonic boom—the sound of each blow landing like atomic bombs in Hiroshima.”
— Vitriol.
Woman brought us to the Earth, but man will take us out; ruled by ego and insecurities, he shoots…
If Coco Chanel played by the rules herself then there would be no iconic Number Five, but ever…
Every desert is testament to her understated elegance; even whilst devoid of rain, their roses…
Every desert is a woman—each one, mysterious, and alluring. No cartel or caravan could capture her…