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When tiredness creeps in, one has to accept defeat and stick to sharing something written a while back. This was first posted here.

what would you know, sweet child
of toxins injected daily
by those who purportedly love and care
they corrode the insides
leave permanent scars invisible to strangers
don’t judge looking from the outside

your mother
she cooked and watched you eat
combed your hair
removed tangles with care
coaxed and cajoled
insisted you finish your chores
many times watched you walk out
irritated to the core
through her exasperation she smiled
affection was in her eyes
she knew you were hers and you knew it too
and were happy secretly, even as your tantrums grew
in her firm ‘no’
love was plain to see
she sat by your sick bed
also listened to what bothered your pretty head
each time you stumbled
her hand was ready, you held
she kept you in her heart
and in every prayer she said

how would you know what it feels
to be pushed down willfully
walked over, never lent a hand
when face down mouth full of sand
beaten for imaginary wrongs
to feed emaciated egos
kept under lock and key, in the dark,
with hunger and thirst as companions
what it is like for a child
to lie all alone in a sick bed

how would you know what it feels
to bathe in a shower of verbal abuse every morning
and be told you are the unwelcome intruder,
you don’t really matter
your opinions are mocked
wishes rubbished
with a few slaps
your faint voice stilled

how would you know what it feels
for your soul to be sucked out
laid bare to dry in the harsh sun
till it powders and is scattered
lost to you forever
hollow with misery
we wander aimlessly
in a world of the chosen,
then you, sweet child look us in the eye
and state firmly
we are nothing but a lie
you know the truth, you say, with conviction
because, you were loved by your mother
she still does and waits for you by the front door

what would you know, sweet child
of hearts full of splinters
and spirits systematically broken over years
by those who say they love selflessly
but make selfishness an art effortlessly
our own who have never been our own

what would you know, sweet child
you look at the world through gifted glasses
you see only what you want to see
and its all so beautifully rosy
you dismiss us, and our bruised selves,
as nonexistent
too bad, we exist! raise your awareness
your words hurt, cause us momentary agony
but we are used to pain, we’ll survive
we have worked hard and long, our self to revive…

©Shail Mohan 2017

februaryramblings@shailsnest

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