By Veena Shankar
Can you feel it beneath your fingers?
The skin on her neck, the blood running beneath, her fight for air, and you - her noose-
Strangulating her without remorse,
Anticipating her end with sheer indifference- like a murderer left loose.
Do you hear the sound of her gasping for breath?
I can, when I shut out the noise of you arguing about
God ,land and oil- (None of which was yours to begin with) ,
Sit down with me and listen - I can hear her, without doubt.
Can you feel it around your mouth?
The scars from the sutures that tied your lips together, where it cut into your skin?
The sutures are off, but it's like muscle memory to shut up in conflict now,
You were promised happiness from
minding your own business - where is your big win?
Do you feel like a fool now,
For believing those men who loved money more than the forest?
When your child crawls into your lap- her eyes, a pool of trust,
Do you wonder how she will breathe in a few years- atleast in you head, are you for once, honest?
You're busy setting down traps for a rodent,
When your house is on fire, your curtains are ablaze, your life hangs by a thread.
It's time to pull out the extinguisher now, to call for help. Yet, you don't.
You're waiting to be killed. Or are you already dead?