By Yasmeen Garg
There was a cry that night
Of a pain unknown to any man.
On blood-drenched sheets, they asked how she did it.
She said, forcing a smile, “Because I am a woman.”
She held in her arms
The little girl she had created
And wished for every blessing upon her,
To be loved in a world she hated.
She watched with her warm eyes
As her girl became a woman,
With a million dreams in her eyes—
But first, to be a good human.
So, with a heavy heart,
The mother let her daughter go,
To chase every shooting star.
“I love you” is all the pain she would show.
But when she said her goodbyes,
She didn’t know it really was—
That the laughter she woke to every morning
Would subside into the past.
The phone rang and the mother ran,
Hoping to hear her girl call out to her.
“Your daughter’s at the hospital,” it said,
And her vision became a blur.
She found her lying still,
With more bruises than she could count.
Her being embodied every pain,
But she did not make a sound.
She opened her eyes as much as they would open.
“Mother, they hurt me,” was all she could say.
The daughter took her last breath,
But a mother also died that day.
She didn’t know what came first—
The numbness, the tears, or the screams—
But she knew she was most desperate
For this to be a dream.
With denial in her heart,
She called out her name,
Shouting into the void,
For a daughter who never came.
There was a cry that night
Of a pain unknown to any man.
On blood-drenched sheets, they asked why they did it.
She said, not forcing a smile, “Because she was a woman.”