The Roots of My Night

By Vusurumarthi. Akshaya Srija

I’m holding on, all by myself,

Since the day you broke me.

My heart pounds every time

I think of you, or speak your name.

I fear the question of my roots—

A question that’s haunted me

Since birth.

They say pain makes you strong,

But what if all I want

Is to be normal—

To feel like every other girl?

I glue my heart back together,

Only to watch it shatter again

When your memory returns.

The guilt of not belonging

Spreads like a plague

Through every cell of me.

Where can I show this broken version,

When pain itself feels like a competition?

I’ve been carrying it

Since the age of four.

Was that an age to feel abandoned?

To choose where to live,

To witness sins disguised as convenience?

To cover my body with wounds

That never healed?

Was that the age to fear the night—

Not for its darkness,

But for the moments darker still,

Moments that swallowed hope?

Was that the age

To know I belonged nowhere?

To dream of running away

To a place where no one knew me,

Where I could begin again?

But can I ever leave—

The longing, the abandonment,

The undeserving,

The scars carved by rusted nails?

Can I breathe once

Without fighting for air?

Can my heart beat once

Without trembling in fear?

Can I have one night

Without the weight of nightmares?

One day where I sleep

Without the shadow of my roots?

By Vusurumarthi. Akshaya Srija