The fairest of her seven sisters, the heavens she did adorn.
Greatly loved she was by all, until she was three.
Her age enriched her charm, her charm tempted envy.
Her sisters felt rejected, for all that was there was hers,
The love, the care, the admiration; her beauty was a curse.
At thirteen, she was the prettiest lass around.
Still full of innocence, her kindness knew no bounds.
But fate had other plans for our little princess,
For it is brutal and selfish, and is ever too merciless.
She suffered from a loss for which nothing could reimburse.
Her modesty had been shredded; her beauty was a curse.
Before she could learn what womanhood meant,
At an age so tender, it’s a shame that she underwent
Such a trauma. Guilty for others’ sins and deeds,
She was being blamed unduly, such are human creeds.
Caged for her lifetime, who once was free as birds,
Her wings had been crumpled; her beauty was a curse.
The kingdom looked lively as everyone celebrated
The arrival of the day that they had so long awaited.
Our princess was tying knots with a prince of a land nearby.
He wasn’t any prince charming, neither the love of her life.
She had lost the right to love, forced to kill her impulse,
Her will had been subdued; her beauty was a curse.
Leaving her dreams behind, the dreams of a happy valley afar
And a palace on top of it, with rooms full of hanging stars.
Dreams of a handsome young duke riding on a black stallion,
Loving, caring and generous; modest and one in a million.
This dream she had dreamt since so long, for days, months and years.
She had been forced to let it go; her beauty was a curse.
She was eighteen and the fifth wife to a monarch who was fifty.
He was rich and able, but cruel; his heart was filthy.
She endured all the torture that he projected onto her
Without any complaints or whines, every minute she would suffer.
The pain was unbearable, but she held back her tears,
For she thought she was unworthy, impure; her beauty was a curse.
She sat near the window, her eyes fixed on the swing outside.
She waited to hear some giggles, a grief she could no more hide.
Her lap was still idle, though she was thirty then,
Her face wrinkled, body enfeebled, with ages of burden,
Burden of being a woman, a woman who yet longed to nurse,
Nurse a child of her own, whose beauty would not be a curse!
She was not the only one, the other four also failed to conceive,
The prince was the reason after all, which others refused to believe.
So he brought another princess to join the royalty, in vain.
And our princess lived the rest of her life, repenting in pain,
Trying to figure out what went wrong, why all these failures
Was her being beautiful a sin, and her beauty indeed a curse?!
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