Sunday, September 15, 2013

The scar on the little flower.

Let me go, uncle.
It hurts and haunts.
I don’t like it.
I don’t know what you are doing to me.
But I know it is not right.

Let me go, uncle.
Can’t you hear me cry?
For the pain and fear grips me hard.
I don’t like it when you touch me this way.
Papa or bhaiyya don’t do this with me.

Let me go, uncle.
Your threats scare me.
As much as the thought that mama will hate me.
But I want to tell her I’m not bad.
I am not bad, am I?

Let me go, uncle.
I don’t know if I’m wrong.
Yet I feel ashamed.
And scared. Very scared.
I don’t want this anymore.

Let me go, uncle.
Don’t make me feel weaker.
Don’t make me feel wrong.
Don’t make me cry more.
Don’t make me tremble this way.

Let me go, uncle.
For I struggle within myself.
I’m afraid to tell anyone.
I’m afraid to go out.
I’m afraid to see any one.

Let me go, uncle.
I am like your daughter, ain’t I?
Little and all of 8yrs.
Someday, when I grow up big.
I hope I can forget all this.

Let me go, uncle.
For I think I cant fight more.
I struggle to tell you this.
And beg you to stop.
Let me free, uncle.

1 comment:

  1. I think poetry comes naturally to you. Keep going. Keep writing. Write more and more. Best wishes. T N Neelakantan