By Khushboo Sharma
I hear the bloodshed in solitude.
The heart is losing the race.
It fought—oh, it fought so hard—
But gave up as the skin was scraped
Over my body by those predators.
I am lying down with my naked soul,
These broken bones and blood-dripping tears,
Thinking of what they all say:
“Was it all my fault?”
But a scarier thought hits—
What would my parents do when they receive the call?
Would my mother touch my empty bed?
Would my father break at the sight of me?
How would they endure this pain?
Would I be the next roar on social media,
Another candle march for a few days?
Or… will this finally be the change?
Is justice merely a myth?
I can see the road turning red from grey.
I fear not being recognized, as I have lost half of my face,
But these cannibals will live free and look for new prey to feed.
As I look at the sky,
Was I not the goddess who brings
Peace, happiness, and wealth,
As my culture says?
Where is my reward for all the good deeds?
Why all this misery and torture?
The pain swallows me whole—
All I am left with is yearning.
Seconds pass, and I no longer hear the blood dripping.
As I realize, my heart has finally quit—
And the world just keeps turning.