Baba had a habit that Maa never liked
He got these shiny looking bottles
But he hid them in these paper bags
And forbid me to take a sip
So when he started singing very loudly
And hugged Maa a little too tightly,
I felt happy because the house wasn't always
So bright but when I asked Maa why
Baba wasn't like this everyday,
She said it's the whiskey talking.
So one day I understood what she meant
When in the middle of the night
I woke up at the sound of screams
And glass shattering
When I ran to my parents' bedroom,
I saw Maa's tearful face and Baba
Saying awful things to her, calling her
Terrible names that sounded like poison
When in the morning I asked Maa
Why she dealt with him hurting her
She simply said, it's the whiskey talking.
Maa died when I was just 14 and
I hadn't even kissed a boy when
Baba once walked into my room
His breath stinking of that
Sickly sweet smell that made my
Insides curl up and as he did things to me
That I couldn't imagine he'd do
I convinced myself that he was still my father
And that it was the whiskey talking.
When years later, I moved out and
Got a family of my own
I was told that Baba was dying
And that he had asked for me
But I cold bloodedly answered that
He didn't really care, and that
It was just the whiskey talking.
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This poem won in Instagram Weekly Contest held by @delhipoetryslam on the theme 'Trauma'
Muchas gracias. ?Como puedo iniciar sesion?
Just raw. Loved it.
Brutally beautiful and heart wrenching …. keep up the good work Sukanya
Vehement.
I’m in awe.
Brutal😲
👏👏