Your words, like whips, that swing through the air
Unbidden. But no one seems to care;
life goes on. No one knows how I feel
when my skin stings: the whips, for me, are real.
With every syllable you voice, I hurt inside.
My organs are scarred, my hands are tied.
I'm covered in blisters, and bruises - such pain
as this, I experience again and again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem