Virupa

What has ever been the curse  
of women since the dawn of life?  
What is the fear they consider the worst,  
calling out only piercing shrieks and cries?  

It is their death. The ugliness.  
A grave the swinging cradle,  
turned to deathbed of loneliness,  
genes displeased, karma prenatal.  
 
Even the most affectionate soul,  
the tender understanding angel,  
would provoke rejection and foul,  
disgust ridiculing the honest stranger.  
 
It was Yordan Yovkov that said  
Beauty is always a blessed exhuberance,  
melting the emptiest hearts she met,  
yet how many times the reason for vengeance.  
 
Albena was the sinful shame  
of unreasonable immorality, the village  
patriarchal tried to put her to a bane,  
starting a process of hanging her, to pillage  
 
her virginity lost, still a maiden,  
as beauty is a host of purity;  
And even desacration does fade in  
softening of their chaotic cruelty.  
 
In the middle of the road,  
whilst they were yelling "Kill her!"  
Silence suddenly ruled and brought  
forward voices with pity unheard.  
 
"Albeno, oh, Albeno..."  
silent whispers did spread..  
"What did you do, be, jeno.."  
and they sincerely wept.  
 
"Spare her life, spare it, and turn!"  
The crowd changed the fuss' tone,  
"The village is nothing without her, we'd burn  
without her beauty illuminating our home!"  
 
Cheerful they laughed, as they were saved.  
Their eyes would bathe in loveliness.  
They rejoiced, unwavering, they faced  
the true force of this lady, the prettiness.  
 
But not all princesses possess that luck.  
Some are born in palaces of gold,  
and diamonds, and rubies; but lack  
these women any charm, it's told.  
 
The faces dry and skin so worn out,  
the nose is disproportionate and big,  
the lips are thin, juiciless,without  
any red hues, the hair cheap like wig.  
 
Small eyes, protruding cheeks,  
theeth are going every places,  
somehow she's pushing away all, weeks  
after weeks, antipathy in their faces.  
 
That was the fate of princess Virupa.  
The daughter of Prasenajit, the Indian king.  
She was at marriagable age, that issued a  
problem so serious of obtaining a ring.  
 
She was growing ever hopeless...  
and her father was ashamed.  
Princes and warriors around her were voiceless..  
Even merchants ran away inflamed.  
 
Yet there was a saler rather weahlty  
he came to live in Cravasti, their place,  
Ganga his name, origins humble and healthy,  
and the king put this chance not to waste.  
 
"He's never seen my daughter!" he reflected  
with wits discerning, tired and unflinching  
"Perhaphs he won't refuse to marry her, neglecting  
the royal titles, positions, treasures" and evincing  
 
his will of an aristocrate ruler,  
he summoned the son-in-law future,  
the latter did not actually refute her,  
lured by understandable reasons, recruited.  
 
But he saw her only after his hasty consent.  
And he was absolutely terrified,  
condemning his fate, imprisoned and bent  
immediately to doom, petrified.  
 
He hated her guts. He'd rather burst in flames  
than touch her or spend his life with her,  
bound to her in circumstances of life and the pains  
of misfortune, when beauty doozes who's hurt.  
 
And also the humiliation...  
Of showing her in front his friends..  
Lowering reputation; no patience  
or mercy would show her he, hence.  
 
He hid her as a prisoner.  
Never to let her outside the mansion.  
She showed affection and care, her inner  
mildness tried with care to provoke his sanction.  
 
But unwavering the merchant, now  
a noble of a rank so high.  
He'd be rude and eventually showed  
only depressed darkness, his wife.  
 
She found her life meaningless.  
The Gods and Godess had abandoned her.  
Born to hurt forever in distress,  
no pleasure in any deed, or second, for sure.  
 
One night, her husband was invited  
to a dinner with his friends, their wives.  
Whoever disagreed to bring the women requited  
a sum sufficient in gold; in hundreds - five.  
 
He didn't bring her. Virupa knew.  
And lost the last will to somehow live.  
She hung herself and the soul kind of flew  
to dimensions that suicide do not forgive.  
 
But Siddharta, in the nearby regions,  
felt the departure of her etherial breath,  
and he rushed there, just in time that weakens  
every second that death steps in to shred.  
 
He unhung her; she inhaled herself back.  
He laughed with the marriest ease.  
She hated him and in instance turned black,  
she reproached him and called him a disease.  
 
"How dare you save me?  
Don't you see my ugly face?  
I hate every blink and see,  
you brought me back from my good faith!"  
 
But Siddharta was calm and quiet.  
He showed her the mirror in the room.  
And recommended "Look, there's your riot"  
And she was a divine portrait that bloomed.  
 
She shouted in unexpected shock,  
and laughed in an infinite amusement blessed,  
She was happy. She felt peace, a rock  
fell down from her chest, thanking the guest.  
 
Meanwhile, her husband Ganga's folks,  
were drunk and getting even drunker as it was,  
and started playing around, pinching him, jokes  
were they spreading, for their curiosity lasts.  
 
"Who is your wife?" They didn't stop inquiring.  
"She must be of beauty unseen" They were sure.  
"That's why you hide her, you jealous, admiring  
her as the only woman in the world" they assured.  
 
They pushed him to his home of distaste.  
He was in horror, his blood turned to frost.  
Yet the anger was burning, he was faced  
with a nightmare, he'd now be a host  
 
of a ridicule that's neverending,  
always reminded of his shame,  
but when they entered, there was waiting  
The Goddess of Fairness, tamed.  
 
"Oh, that's why you hid her!"  
They altogether in a choir loud,  
shouted and joyful praised, lured  
to be with her, a dream without  
 
a future, as it was forbidden forever.  
She belonged only to Ganga the prince.  
And the Buddha had disappeared so clever,  
and Ganga wondered what was he seeing, since  
 
he knew what she looked like  
and could not comprehend  
what was going on, what a strike  
on his rationale, what had sent  
 
him such a vision desired,  
that unreachably impossible has been;
the wine surely blinded him to admire  
the virgin he'd prefer to have instead seen.
 
But Virupa told him the story.  
What an astonishment dawned  
upon the couple, and now in glory  
they lived their life renowned.  
 
Everywhere they'd go, whispers emerged,  
rumours of envy and vengeous intent.  
Glorification, awe and beauty always surged,  
as the Symbol of Mercy they were sent.  
 
They thanked all their life and beyond  
the gift that the Master gave birth to;  
she conceived this gem and a bond  
she developed with Ganga, soothed so.  
 
They loved each other until the rest of their path  
that brought them together on this earth.  
Were the lessons learned? Now they had  
the chance to be grateful and heard  
 
the benevolence and salvation of God,  
and they the Brahman's mystery perceived,  
their mind always occupied by the thought  
of the holy all-presence of the Creator they retrieved!