By Nilabha Sharma
I was buried beneath the wall
The wall of eucalyptus trees.
Every day I hear the wind blowing through,
The rustling of the leaves taking me home.
My home where my parents live,
Where I was a rosy-lipped child running around,
Where we fought and loved in equal measure
The memory that stayed with me as I took my last breath.
My home now is this grave,
Where my broken bones lie,
Screaming for someone to find me,
Screaming for justice.
Oh! How they tore me
Into bits and pieces.
The blood-curdling shouts
That no one heard.
They were not one, but two, then three.
Each took his turn,
Escalating the torture,
One by one, till the end.
My family is still looking for me.
Who will tell them
I lie buried beneath the wall
The wall of eucalyptus trees.