The Blended Replay

By Vaishnavi Ojha

"Love, you have school tomorrow, 

Just close your little eyes and sleep" 

My mother's words paused the dysphoric thoughts.

Over and over again,

They had been replaying the same scene.

Nevertheless, I slowly closed my eyes and then;

Alas, they resumed again.

Four walls and a high ceiling;

A loud soundproof room.

My teacher sat on the other end.

I, sitting by the door, felt the smile of mine ascend,

When I heard my naive voice over the slow song,

With her perfected voice, beautifully blend.

It sounded so soothing,

Enough to be flawlessly wrapped up;

And be gifted to an old friend.

Yet my buzzing phone brought this happiness to an end.

An ongoing call and a dozen streetlights;

An eleven-year-old walking on an empty road.

I told him I stayed for a quite while at my music class,

He told me I stayed long enough to foreshadow my life;

The one of a try-hard failure.

I couldn't deny it,

I didn't even know my future career.

So, I agreed and nodded a bit.

Indeed, I was a failure after just eleven years of being born.

I heard something fall on a glossy surface;

Following, my father who hung up the call in a quick pace.

My slow breaths suddenly felt too heavy.

But at least, the road no longer seemed empty.

Four walls and a tiled floor;

An angry man in a suffocating living room.

With her cries passing through the burning tears,

My mother screamed in pain as her head hit the floor,

All under my father's furious glares.

For my father,

Her mistake was not that;

She told him why I would've been staying late;

No, it was that she decided not to shut up;

Listen to him talk about the failing future I'd create.

For my mother,

Her mistake was not that she tried to defend me;

It was that she let her own opinion flee;

The one, to which, he clearly did not agree.

I, sitting on the floor, 

Finally realised this pain would never truly end,

When I, once again, heard my shaky cries over the angry yells,

With her painful screams, brutally blend.

By Vaishnavi Ojha