You lay there in bed, unable to tell
what pain you felt, how with memories you dealt,
you lay there watching, looking,
desiring perhaps to stand and walk again
but as you felt your helplessness
unable to surmount your resistance,
only the others could decide whether you could live or die;
they dressed you, they fed you but none could reach in your mind
none could give you the justice you would want for yourself;
in living the way you lived was like a cloud in the sky
that keeps moving on relentlessly waiting to drop;
who knows how slowly passed the time so sullenly
as you yourself never understood your own pains
as you yourself could never think or decide in vain;
and as days turned into forty two years,
those rolling moments over the bed turning from side to side
as others watched and cared for you,
when perhaps your own determination of vengeance had vanished
still you might have wanted to get up, walk again
and strangulate the one who did this to you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
u have written excellently - its really painful to read her story and shameful that nobody could read her mind or give her justice. Pity on our laws, wat else. You may read a poem I contributed on this topic today.
Thank you, Kavya! Life goes on and injustice never perishes! !