By-Priyanka Bharati


Even today, she shivers every night before her sleep

she smiles a lot but beyond it, no one sees her weep

can share it with no one, and to no one can she explain

for its been a long time to that story, there's no point feeling the pain

she's an excellent actor, no one will ever realize her actual struggle

between a heartily laugh and the memory of every lonely night she has to juggle

everyone knows the story but no one knows it didn't really end

even today if she's alone she goes back to the time when she was barely 10

amidst a room full of people, she stands all alone

yes she has lots of friends now but back then, she was all on her own

for her parents had chosen their career over their daughter

they assumed she'll be fine & are still unaware of the slaughter

thank god she was too young, too young to remember the whole of 2 years

glimpses of the past occur in bits and pieces and it takes a while till it clears

lying on the bed alone today when she's 20, she couldn't help but cry

even though a lot of time has passed but the wounds aren't yet dry

for she remembers sleeping the exact same way, crying in her room everyday alone,

crossing off the days & counting when she'll see back her dad and mom

promise that they'll meet her every weekend they didn't keep,

for every such weekend she had a silent shout and make herself count sheep

so she couldn't hear, see or feel her mom dad for months at stretch,

those days were mostly spent closed in a room, eyes wet, stuck in a bed

did they not love her? did money matter more? thinking of it she'd eventually fall asleep

every morning hoping to wake up in her mom's arms, only to realise she cried last night to sleep

those days are only in her mind, never can be shared

how she wishes if all of it was just a story that about someone else she'd read

for I don't think anyone can ever understand her fury, anger & excruciating pain

that makes her shiver every night, every morning her eyes wander just to make sure it didn't happen again

The little girl that died in those two years still haunts her from the inside

She is now always lonely even with a hundred people sitting beside.



This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon:

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