They sat together under that tree,
Without rhyme or reason, they thought they would agree.
But unfaithfulness was into the vogue,
Distrust was justified and she was provoked.
Society ruined her frank simplicity.
She looked around; everything was a mere chaos,
She did not know it was boundless.
The universe was inhabited by million silhouettes,
But treachery was for her a real misery.
For she knew nothing could be due.
Her folks deemed she was just in exile in an obliviated tower,
Everything seemed to her too vile.
In that tribe, names were no longer symbolic,
Their life was just tragic and melancholic.
They looked at the greenish sky,
They did not wonder about that colour;
They welcomingly accepted all colours and shapes.
Because treachery was into the vogue.
They wanted her to follow the mob,
But she couldn’t wear that robe.
She read Dostoevsky and understood,
How heavy and dire treachery and unfaithfulness were.
She was sitting next to him,
As she fancied the entire scene.
She was not a folk from that tribe,
That was why she chose to fly.