Farid wore a beret, woven with blue and pink hydrangeas….

He trailed his path with a floral scent to disguise that his ways were dangerous.

Attired in tastes creamy, bubbly and flavourous….

A few months shy of 16- I knew nothing of men who were venomous.



My heart skipped ropes upon receiving a rose between the fold of a letter….

Tied my heart on a string and hung it on a vine alongside the river.

I returned a bouquet of violets and tulips assembled together…..

And onwards from that day- I drew his name with ‘forever’.



Untouched and still of innocence under the buckle of my belt,

Love exchanged in words was the only touch I had ever felt.

Perhaps I lost clarity of sense because of the pollen I smelt….

He took my sanctuary and oath of purity- which the florist forced to melt.



Nobody believed me, when I said the florist raped me,

I begged the judge: “hear me… hear me,

Do not be fooled by the colors in the garden you see-

It is he who committed sin in the first degree”.

But the judge called me a liar- said he bought roses from Faridi quite frequently,

That the florist couldn’t hurt a fly- that I wanted to steal a poor man’s glee.

And so the town hissed at me while the wolf walked free.



What he took from me I could never sew or heal,

But it was my good name that day which he would also steal.

Years came and went and the truth was yet to be revealed,

Drenched in rage I made the bitch ass squeal.



I stuffed petals into his mouth and put a mute to his scream,

Turned this six year nightmare into a long awaited dream.

I blended thorns, bleach and azaelias into a poison.

“Your honour where I fought with the law and the law lost-

You’ll find sufficient evidence in this floral potion”



©Sabrina Najib



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