A Thousand Blows

By Shibumi Desai

This mother's wound is an open gash,

Festering with political apathy,

Maggots don’t come,

Because grief has taken over – eating away at her daily.

That girl’s whole body took a thousand blows,

Each one of them inflicted with a calculated stroke,

Harder and harder on their soft target, leaving behind only rawness,

Protected by walls that were prone to deafness.

Her organs were brutalized before she learned what they were for,

Then they smashed her head too, just to be sure

After they all took their pound of her flesh,

They tossed her body aside, when literally nothing was left.

“Sorry” echoes empty and hollow now,

Bouncing off cold cave walls.

Sleeplessness and shame become resignation,

Numbness combined with relentless pain,

For all those who suffered but have no name,

Just like she didn’t have one,

For what was being done to her,

She was just eight,

When her life was taken,

By men and not by fate.

By Shibumi Desai