I remember
it’s been two decades now
and the inner demons
of that violence visit me
I remember
feeling no pain
as I die inside
self-hatred searing my soul
I remember
my mind confused
by the fallacy of violence:
I am enjoying it men say
I remember
the pall of heavy smoking
one matchstick for the day
cigarettes didn’t kill me
I denied
the nights of ghosts
the images of prison bars
and the shadow of the demon
I wanted
to move on, but memories plod
thick in my dreaming, the tough facade
crumbles at nights, in my aloneness
I lived
to live the pain
mystics call it karma
I called it memories.
These inner demons in me are me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem