by John Kolyav

‘Easy said than done, uncle,’
Stammered she while I was taking her
To the Taj Mahal for a diversion,
‘Ever since the incident, I see
Dawn setting off as a virgin in snowy attire
But by dusk the sun splashes
A bucket of blood on her panties;
The breeze brings only dried salty shark’s smell in
And the night sky
Ah! Just a dark porous dome
Beyond which a pyre
Of some unknown victim burns
And I inhale the pungent stink of charred flesh.
Day creeps like an injured glow-worm
And night staggers like a crow, wings amputated,
And my nap is swarming with nightmares
Of hyenas tearing me alive
And yet what the assailants got?
Just two years in prison!
What if you were me?’

I just had my refrain,
‘You’re not the only victim,
Forget it and lead a normal life, my child!’

Placeholder Picture