A Bruised Smile – My Bullying Experience

This is the story of a little girl with big, bright eyes and a genuine smile. I once caught this little girl in the washroom, sitting on an overturned bucket inside a cubicle. Her uniform clung to her knees as she wept silently for hours, trying not to be heard. But as the last school bell rang, she jumped up and wiped away her tears. In her eyes, there wasn’t just happiness to be going home. There was relief. That little girl brings tears to my eyes even today. Because, that little girl was me.

It is the victim’s silence that fuels the perpetrator.

For all these years, I kept a secret confined to the deepest part of my soul. I was bullied. So, why am I speaking up now? Because I can finally accept that this happened to me. Because, though I may never be able to move away from it, I can hopefully move on. Because I realized that it is the victim’s silence that fuels the perpetrator.

It first started when I was five years old. My being left-handed provoked my teachers enough to beat me up. I remember being terrified to use my own hand, trying hard to pretend that I was ambidextrous and this memory still has the power to send chills down my spine. I was damaged at that age despite my mother’s constant support. I tried so desperately to believe her when she told me that I was perfect just the way I was. But the trauma could not be erased.

Fast forward by three years. On my first day in a new school, when I was walking towards my classroom, I saw a few books and a lot of stationery strewn across the corridor. In a corner, a lunch box lay open with the food inside it emptied. With horror in my eyes, I instantly realized that these things belonged to me. As I quickly knelt to pick it all up, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment, I heard laughter. There were two things I learnt that day. One, I was the perfect target. Two, this would keep happening.

Over the course of the next couple of months, I retreated further and further into my shell. The bullies found innovative ways to make me feel worthless. My nicknames started with ‘ugly’, ‘dark’ and ‘transgender’, gradually progressing to ’Ms. 20,000 kilograms’ and ‘Ms. Elephant’. Nearly every single night, my tear soaked pillows reminded me of my misery. I would spend hours in the dark staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep for the fear of choking in my own nightmares. I contemplated suicide repeatedly but the worst part was not knowing what I did to deserve such hatred. At the age of nine, I could not understand that this was not my fault.

Just when I felt like I had reached my threshold, with the name calling and the damage of my  personal belongings, the abuse turned physical. Once, I was invited to play with the ‘popular’ kids during recess and that day, I fell in the sand, scraping my knees. I brushed it off as clumsiness when my worried mother asked me how it happened. The next day, I fell again and this time, bled from my elbows. A dangerous pattern started, where I got bruised repeatedly, multiple times per week. But I didn’t care because all those nights, my pillow remained dry. That had to mean I was happy, right? A little blood couldn’t stop me from happiness, could it?

I realized that in my eagerness to feel accepted, I had let myself be used.

But this euphoria was short lived. Because, one day, it dawned upon me that I wasn’t falling. I was being pushed. It happened again, and this time, I heard the children laughing as I lay face front on the sand. They were laughing all those other times too, but in my blind hope, I hadn’t heard them. I realized that in my eagerness to feel accepted, I had let myself be used.

As the weeks advanced, they would find new ways to torment me. Inquisitive eyes measured my developing body and lewd comments were passed to my face. Bets were placed on the colour of my intimate clothing and my skirt was pulled up to decide the winner. Though I was very young, the humiliation I faced was unimaginable. However, I never once let them see my tears.

But one day, when a fellow classmate put his hand up my skirt, I just mentally collapsed. I fell into severe depression and blamed myself for everything that happened to me. I struggled with insomnia, suffered with poor eating habits and withdrew from everyone. This was when I turned to writing for solace because I was unable to express my emotions verbally. I would weave stories of friendship, love and companionship, but mostly, my stories centered the one thing I craved the most. Acceptance.

For others to accept me, I had to accept myself first.

Still, despite all the self-hatred I possessed, I managed to survive and because I did, somewhere along the way, a miracle happened. I call this miracle ‘self-realization’. I finally understood that for others to accept me, I had to accept myself first. I needed to come out of my shell and conquer my insecurities. Thus began my transformation and my healing process. But trust me when I say that it was possibly the hardest thing I have ever done till today. I took to writing seriously, focused on my academics and started making friends. I pushed myself to test my limits. There came a day when I finally wasn’t just accepted, but was looked up to. It gave me a sense of achievement, but more than that, it made me gain my own perspective. You see, if I had succumbed to that pressure back then, I wouldn’t be here today. There is always light at the end of the tunnel. I can finally see that light now and my euphoria today is only intensified by my bitter experiences yesterday.

I may be damaged, but I will never be broken.

I know now that happiness needs to come from within. I know now that nobody has the power to decide for me excepting for myself. I know now that I am not worthless, that I am not weak and that I am not incapable. But when I was a child, I didn’t. I’m choosing my battles, conquering my fears and taking steps – one at a time. But some scars last forever, and I am okay with that.

Bullying can cause lasting damage. I still have extreme trust issues, I still can’t express my feelings and I still struggle to sleep peacefully at night. I may be damaged, but I will never be broken.

A lot of people see my success. But I see the years of pain it took to get to where I am today. Given a choice, I would have preferred to have my childhood instead of it being ripped away from me through the years. When people exclaim that my maturity spans beyond my age, their compliment causes me pain. Because that wasn’t a choice I got to make. But I made it through and if I can, then you can too.

To those of you who can relate, know that you have nothing to be ashamed of. You have no reason to hide. Loving yourself is the primary solution. But seek betterment only because you want to. I battled with severe inferiority complex which came from foolish comparisons and now I know that there is no such thing as ‘inferior’ or ‘superior’. There is just you. And you are perfect exactly the way you are.

To those who have hurt others in the past…verbally, emotionally, physically or sexually…I have only one question for you. How does it make your life better? Try walking in your victim’s shoes and you will see how damaging it is to suffer for no fault of your own. Your happiness should come from another’s smile, not tears. Your sense of power should come from protection, not destruction. Your popularity should come from respect, not fear. But mostly, a solution to your insecurities should come from within yourself and not from feeding off of another’s sense of inferiority.

There is nothing wrong with being different.

Lastly, to the parents and the teachers. Behind every happy child, there is you. Please pay attention to early signs of your child’s distress or aggression. Silence speaks louder than words. Counsel your child to find out if he is bullying or is being bullied. But most importantly, do not discriminate. Be it two children in your house or forty children in your classroom, demonstrate equality. Let them all know that they are unique and that there is nothing wrong with being different. My mother, who was, is and will always be my support system, is the reason I am standing proud today. Love and guidance can do wonders. Be that person who changes another’s life.

It wasn’t easy for me to relive those memories that I kept repressed for so many years. But I hope that something good comes out of it. Because you took the time to read my story, I ask only one thing of you. If you feel that this message could be of use to someone, then please help it reach that person…

And as always, I am here for you.

Book Review: The Elephant Chaser’s Daughter by Shilpa Raj

“No matter what, love doesn’t die with death.” – Shilpa Raj

This week I was able to get my hands on The Elephant Chaser’s Daughter by Shilpa Raj  which is a memoir of this young woman’s experiences as she and her family was forced to face the wrath of society’s disease called ‘untouchability’ and fate’s destiny called ‘poverty’.

Let us get into the review, shall we?



Saved by her grandmother from being killed at birth for having been born a female, Shilpa’s life took many unexpected turns and twists through her early years. She faced abandonment by her mother, the formidable constraints placed on her by her family, and the barbs of village elders bound by hundreds of years of oppressive practices and customs that subjugate women. Shilpa is torn between the contrasting lives she leads: one of servitude and injustice experienced by her family; the other of opportunity and empowerment offered by a good education in a school started by a philanthropist.

Just when all seems settled, an unforeseen death under mysterious circumstances shatters whatever stability remains in her life. Pulled in opposite directions, and torn between despair and dreams, Shilpa finally makes a choice for her future. Is she strong enough to stand up to the people she loves, and pursue what she wants?

At its heart The Elephant Chaser’s Daughter is about hope, when all seems lost. Written with raw honesty and grit, this is a deeply moving memoir of a young girl confronting her ‘untouchable’ status in a caste-based society, and her aspirations for modernity.



The title is beautiful and it aptly describes what the memoir is about. Shilpa’s narrative is shown to readers through her eyes but the title has a sweet connection to her roots. I found it beautiful for her to fearlessly tag herself as an Elephant Chaser’s Daughter and proudly show her history to the world.

Title Rating – 4.5 / 5


The cover of the memoir is that of a young girl amidst a village background. Her face is unseen from the sun’s rays. The cover is serene, picturesque and has a melancholic feel to it. I love the way it fills me with peace but also how it gives a peek into what the narrative is all about. It’s apt with regards to the title and to the storyline. I loved it.

Cover Rating – 5 / 5


“As years passed, I often found myself feeling guilt-stricken at how I came to have so much compared to my family.” – Shilpa Raj

As I read through the pages of the memoir, I found myself getting increasingly absorbed into Shilpa’s tale. She tells her story beautifully through the first person narrative and that adds to the connection that the reader builds with her. The tale talks about her entire family, the troubles they went through and the hardships they had to face to get to the stage they are at today.

“The word ‘plane’ made everything seem so distant…” – Shilpa Raj

The language is fluent and simple to understand. It has a wonderful flow to it which makes it all the more appealing. I love the way the paragraphs are split as that helps the story flit from past to present which is how it is written. My favourite part was that about her sister which was told beautifully.

“I was anxious to see my mother, and nothing else could be more important.” – Shilpa Raj

There isn’t a systematic flow to the tale which is very engaging and, for me, one of the highlights of the novel. I feel like the entire story became double the times more interesting because of the timelines interchanging and Shilpa’s history mingling with her present. What makes it even better is that there is no confusion despite the form of this narrative which shows the author’s skill of story telling.

Plot Rating – 5 / 5

I loved…

  1. The fluency in the writing
  2. The diverse timelines the tale travels through
  3. The author’s ability to tell her story without creating confusion in the reader’s mind

I wanted…

More conversations! That is my only suggestion / critical aspect about the book.

Overall Rating: 5 / 5
Verdict: Worth Every Penny!

Order your copy from the link below:

Amazon India



Book Review: The Highway Man by J. Alchem

Usually, when I hear about a book of short stories,  it is usually a collection of 12 – 15 stories. But with this one, I was surprised. It only consisted of three stories and was a pretty short read. So, I’m going to center my review in a detailed manner around these.

Firstly, the synopsis. I was quite disappointed with this mainly because of the grammatical errors. It didn’t manage to capture my attention. But nevertheless, I will add here that the book did hold more surprises than the synopsis did. I would suggest for the author to get a couple of expert opinions before rolling out the synopsis of his next books as that is what draws attention of the readers.



Second, the cover. This is entirely to each his own which is why I won’t say much but though it was classy, I wasn’t thoroughly impressed. I generally look for two factors – how catchy the cover is and how it connects to the plot. I wish the author chose something like a blend or an abstract form for his cover.

Now, the plot. There are a total of three stories. ‘Catherine‘ shows a side of love that deals with mindless obsession of an author with  a physician. What’s beautiful about this story is how the  author dealt with the ending of the plot. I personally found it quite entertaining and that is the steal of this story.

Sidzy, for a day‘ is a story  between a ‘very much in love’ couple who go out of their way to express their feelings for one another. This was the weak link in the book for me and I personally did not enjoy this story though I am very sure that a lot of people did. However, I did love how the author vividly described the romance between the two characters.

Finally, ‘The Highway Man‘. I heard a lot about how this was the best story of the book and given that the title of the entire book revolves around this one, I was eager to find out. It’s about a widower who copes with life as a single father. I thought it was touching and very moving. The author’s writing style really shone through.

Overall, it was a short and enjoyable read. I definitely recommend it. A special mention to the ‘acknowledgements’ section of this book – It is unlike anything I’ve read before. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Cover Rating – 3.5 / 5
Plot Rating – 4 / 5
Title Rating – 3 / 5

Overall Rating – 4 / 5

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Book Review: Treacherous Desires by Kritika Sharma

I just read ‘Treacherous Desires’ by Kritika Sharma which turned out to be quite entertaining. Here is what I thought.


There are three elements I look for in a book cover of which I take two very seriously. The first is the connection to the plot and the second is the attraction factor. The third element, which is as important as the two but is difficult to create is mystery.

The cover of ‘Treacherous Desires’ perfectly nailed the first two.

Cover Rating – 4 / 5


There is a lilting melody in the way the title just dances off the cover. It’s seductive, it’s catchy and it sounds quite interesting. My only comment, if any, would have to be that the lack of mystery was what made it slightly less than perfect.

However, great job!

Title Rating – 4 / 5


I will be honest when I say that romance isn’t always my first choice. However, when it came to this book, an apprehensive start turned into a wonderful burst of vibrancy across the pages.

The protagonist Kaya is a married woman who finds that trouble comes across her way in the form of another man – One whom she desires far more than she ever has her husband. In a series of heated moments, passionate circumstances and romantic sessions, Kaya finds herself thoroughly trapped… with no surrender.

Starting with the negative aspects of the book, which aren’t many, I felt that the writing didn’t travel at an even pace. What seemed strong and forthright in one scene was slow, pedantic and weak in another. Other than that, I wished that the writing style could be slightly more polished. It seemed like an amazing story lost among diluted dialogues and ill-constructed scenes.

What appealed to me in this story line was the high level of possibility of a similar situation occurring in reality. The author was able to perfectly capture the essence of an unhappy marriage, the innocence of a stranger’s attraction and the suffering of guilty consequences. The reader is automatically transported into a likewise situation and is left wondering – what would I do in a situation like this?

The best part about the writing style is how conversational it is and how it makes the story bounce off the pages without a moment of boredom.

Rating – 4.5 / 5


It has been ages since I read a book this light, breezy and engaging. The author is bold, her story has the right amount of intimacy it requires and balances off very well.

Final Rating: 4.5 / 5

Verdict: Most Definitely Recommended

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Book Review: UNNS – The Captivation by Sapan Saxena

I just read ‘UNNS – The Captivation’ by Sapan Saxena and enjoyed myself.
Here is what I thought.


I personally felt very neutral about the cover. It neither had the mystery nor the attraction factor, which for me, are quite essential when I first look at a book. It felt bland, plain and simple. These things could all be very good, but as a personal opinion, I wasn’t very impressed.

Cover Rating – 2.5 / 5


This is where my review picks up. The title is fabulous. I love the sound, the essence and the meaning of it. Before starting the book, I actually googled it and learnt that it meant love in Arabic. Upon reading, I realized that it is one of the seven stages of love that is mentioned by the author in the novel.

The by-line ‘The Captivation’ is so captivating in itself.

Title Rating – 5/5


At first, the book seemed ordinary and the plot felt quite run of the mill. But it would be an understatement to say that the story line picked up midway. The author has done a fantastic job in creating various twists along the way and placing them intelligently between the chapters.

What starts of as love between two teens blows out of proportion when they are separated due to forced circumstances and are united years later. I won’t say more for fear of revealing something. But be rest assured that you will be getting more than you expect.

The writing style is good. The grammar is on point and the style is easy to read. However, it seemed prolonged and elongated in a few parts and very little is left to the readers’ assumptions and understanding as everything is explained in detail. While I understand that the author would have wanted for there to be no confusion, it did seem a bit much considering that the new age readers are all well equipped to draw out and follow twists very well.

Kudos to the author for trying something out of the box with a predictable romance.

Rating – 4 / 5


It was a great read and I particularly enjoyed understanding the seven stages of love through the book. It seemed realistic and quite engaging. The combination of a thriller within the romance was wonderful though predictable in a few places. However, that being said, a definite recommendation from me!

Final Rating: 4.25 / 5
Verdict: Recommended!

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Book Review: Rafflesia, The Banished Princess by Gautam

I just read ‘Rafflesia, The Banished Princess’ by Gautam.
Here is what I thought.


The cover wasn’t the highlight of the book for me. It was drab, it was dull and definitely not something I would call ‘catchy’. Perhaps it is the grey factor that made it seem that way.

But it is a good accompaniment to the title and, obviously, the story. However, my suggestion to the author is to try something discrete for his next work, something that makes the cover intriguing and mysterious.

Cover Rating – 3 / 5


The title is pretty straightforward and it does mention one of the key characters of the novel. The byline ‘The Banished Princess’ is apt and gives a wonderful peak into the plot as well.

I love the name Rafflesia.

Title Rating – 4/5


When I first saw the immense size of the book, I was quite terrified. It is probably one of the longest books I’ve read in the recent past. However, I will say that for the length of the novel,  the author was able to keep up the story line and stretch it across without making it seem dull, repetitive or dragged.

The plot revolves around ‘Appu’ who is the protagonist. His life is dependent on the situations that his closest ones face or the obstacles that they incur. Each character is deep, has a history of its own and is presented very well. My favourite character was ‘Misha’, a sibling-like friend to ‘Appu’.

The drawback would definitely have to be the length. I did find, in a few places, that the narration was either slow or unnecessary. There was no steadiness to the writing, but instead went like wave after wave with a bunch of highs and lows.

The writing style is good, however, I felt that in many places, it could have been better. The main issue I had was the repetition of words in the same sentence. That was distracting. But then again, perhaps I am being nit-picky. I would love to see the author pick a more vibrant topic and see how he deals with a different theme.

Though there are pros and cons to the book, I definitely liked reading it and found it to be quite enjoyable.

Rating – 4 / 5


I don’t regret reading this book at all. It was a great read, and though it took me two weeks to complete with my hectic schedule and frantic deadlines, it was a calm and peaceful journey for me. However, I will have to add, that this book isn’t for all audiences – especially those who enjoy quicker reads.

Final Rating: 4 / 5
Verdict: Recommended as a Long Read!

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The Rain Child

The house is heavy with grief.
Twisting an escaping strand of my straightened hair in my finger, I bite my lower lip to stop myself from getting emotional.
Outside, as I hear thunder, a sudden smile of secrecy escapes my pursed lips.

Abandoning my family in time of their need, I take one step back, listening to the sound of my bangles as they gently clink against one another.
I take another and then turning around, I run out of the main door.
My long, curly hair is brushing softly against my back as I break into a sprint, my lips slightly apart with the struggle of breathing. Hoisting my ankle length skirt up, I continue running till I reach the far end of my back yard.
Around me, mango trees are swaying with the wind, waving to the lightning in the sky.
I stand still, closing my eyes, my head turned towards the clouds.
My fingers have let my Tulip red skirt fall beautifully over my legs as my arms slowly start moving upwards, till they’re outstretched beside me.
A warning thunder resounds in the sky, nature’s call, and as if on cue, a drop of rain falls on my forehead. Within seconds, another plops on my nose till eventually, the drops cover my face.
I smile; loving every minute of the beauty with my eyes closed and then, I begin spinning. I don’t know how I look but if my dad were standing next to me right now, he would have said that I looked like a rose amidst the lushness of nature.

My father is my most favourite person in the entire world.
He always says that when I’m happy, he’s happy.
But I haven’t told him yet that I’m only happy when he’s around. Now, I think that it may be too late.
“Darling,” He’d say on a random day, as we both sat in our lawn, lazing around and taking in the beauty of the sunshine. “Have I ever told you the story about you and the rain?”
I’d giggle and say, “Yes! But I want to hear it again.”
He’d chuckle at my excitement and start off with the story I had heard over a hundred times in my life
“You were only nine months old!” He’d tell me, with stars in his eyes, every time he repeated that story. “A miracle baby. One day, we had left the main door ajar and you heard the rain pouring outside and crawled out.” His face would turn into dismay. “It was a good fifteen minutes before your mother and I found you. God, the horror in my heart! Would you believe, just when I was ready to call the cops, I saw you from out the window, sitting near the mango trees, giggling in the rain? I never left the door open again!”
At this memory, he fondly laughed. “My rain child.”

My father doesn’t know that he’s my rain.
I mean to tell him that if it still is possible.
Outside, where I’m standing, the rain gets heavier. I feel the cold rain drops fall on my skin and mix up with the hot tears that are scalding my cheeks.
That’s the best thing about this season.
No one needs to know how much your heart is breaking.
My father always tells me that tears are a sign of weakness.

“Don’t ever let people catch you crying.”
“But dad,” I’d whine. “Everyone cries every once in a while!”
“Not you!” He’d smile then, fondly touching the tip of my nose. “You, my dearest rain child, will just run out to where you belong. By the mango trees in the rain. Your real home. There, you’ll find happiness. If you don’t, I’ll always be here for you.”
My childish mind did not think deep enough back then to realize that ‘always’ was not a word that meant ‘forever’. That immortality will always be our biggest weakness.

I look out at the mango trees. They’ve been there for longer than I can imagine.
My father once told me that he and my mother planted them together.
I love my mother a lot. But she doesn’t compare to the bond I share with my father.
I’m careful not to tell her that because I’ll hurt her feelings but she’s aware. Anyone would be.

Falling to my knees, ignoring the pain surging up my legs, I clench both my fists to compose myself. My head is bent low and my tears are falling with a speed that matches the rain.
Death is the most terrible gift of life.
It takes away from you, precious moments that you no longer have time to share. You see your future right in front of your eyes but it’s a future you can’t have because your time is up.
My sobbing gets loud and I’m scared that someone in my family inside, weeping, will hear me.
Behind me I hear footsteps but I don’t turn.
Then, a voice.
“My dearest Rain Child,” it says, a deep male voice choked with emotion and regret.
I know it’s my father.
He wipes his tears and crouches beside me.
I look at him, one last time, my eyes brimming with tears, matching his.
Like father, like daughter.
Then, he speaks.
“You’ve decided to go to the rain!” He says, breaking down. “But why didn’t you take me with you?”
I’m sitting right next to him but he can’t see me. He can’t see me sobbing hysterically now, shouting ‘I love you’ to him over and over again. I want him to know that I’m glad that car accident took me and not him. That I’m glad that I am not the one alive right now, crying for him. That it may sound selfish but I may not be able to survive without him. That mom now has him to lean on but if he had been the one to go away, then our family would collapse.
But it’s too late for all these things.
So, I just take in the sight of him.
We have one private moment together, joined in our tears and agony.
Then, getting up, I pat his head, though he can’t see me.
For one miraculous moment, he looks up, directly into my eyes.
He may not be able to see me but he has felt my touch.
Knowing that this is the most that I can have, I run towards the pouring rain till I’m finally one with it.
Then I’m gone and so is the rain.
The sun comes up, shining brightly, as if I’ve never existed.
But far away, in my house, the wails continue.

The Counter Top

From behind the curtain, one peeping eye,
A nervous glance as footsteps pass by,
One chubby foot and then the other,
Careful not to fall in the eyes of the mother

A pink fist closed, the other in her mouth,
She giggles in excitement as she heads down south
Towards the kitchen, where the goodies lie,
Out of her reach, on the counter up high

Curly, soft hair falls on her face,
Her diaper wobbles as she quickens her pace,
But her baby feet trip, she has a nasty fall,
And her tushy is on the floor, diaper and all.

Her big, blue eyes fill with unshed tears,
She lets out a wail, hoping no one hears
The mother is in the kitchen, running around,
Pots and pans making a very loud sound

The father is in the study, his reading glasses on,
He’s been in that position since the break of dawn,
A few minutes pass, she attempts to stand,
All her baby weight falling on her tiny hand

First her tushy juts out, round and proud,
As she mutters baby curses out aloud,
Then she gets up and begins to stumble again,
Convincing herself that the goodies are worth the pain

“Mama”, she says and lets out a tiny cough,
A momentary pause, then she sets off,
Her arms outstretched, she begins to sway,
And lands on her butt again, much to her dismay

This time there’s no control, the tears have to come,
Her lower lip juts out as she nurses her injured bum
The waterfall starts, then comes the sound,
It goes on and on till she’s finally found

The mother comes first, panic clear on her face,
The father follows, aware he’s lost the race
Scooping the baby up, the mother utters words, sweet,
And places her on the counter, on her plump feet

The father acts goofy, trying to stop the baby’s tears,
But neither of their attempts has reached her tiny ears
Because the focus of her attention, one could not stop,
For her eyes and ears belonged to the goodies on the counter top

Reaching out she picked one, then another,
In front of the weary eyes of the worried mother
Quickly, she stuffed them in, two at a time,
And felt like she had successfully committed a crime

The mother first laughed, then the father joined in,
With a glass of milk, the baby washed off her sin
‘Oh, how easy’, she thought, to fool them both,
Tears became every baby’s weapon from that day forth.

An Angel in Disguise

Battered, bruised, lower lip swollen,
One red eye, the other won’t open,
Unending fear, damage and destruction,
Two broken ribs and a jaw reconstruction

Forever running, trying to hide,
Her trembling heart refuses to stay inside,
Shivers running down her spine,
She dreads the moment the clock strikes nine.

I remember crouching, cowering on the floor,
As I hear the creak in our rickety main door,
She gets up and runs all around the house,
In a futile attempt to get away from her spouse

Covering the bruises on her left hand,
She hides her fate, shaped as a wedding band,
A husband by name, a monster in disguise,
As he steps in at nine, a part of her dies

Oh, how many times she wished for death,
For the haggard hiss to be her last breath,
But luck refused to side her way,
It tortured and terrified her, until today

I watch as she sleeps, closing her eyes,
As the smelly room is echoing with cries,
What’s good luck for one can be bad for the other,
I realize that as I gaze at my dead mother

Alone in this world, with nowhere to go,
There’s no means to live, no one I know,
After years of struggle, she’s set herself free,
But she left something behind, something called me.

By the time the clock strikes nine, I’m the only one,
Today, for once in her life , my mother doesn’t get up to run,
But the door doesn’t open either, no one storms inside,
And I’m left sitting alone in the dark, sleepy but wide eyed.

I stare longingly at her face, peaceful at last,
Knowing moments with her are now in the past,
I won’t feel her love and her care anymore,
I know I shall never be as happy as I was before.

With great relief, at the break of dawn, her soul rises up high,
Leaving me here, alone, without a chance to say goodbye,
What’s good luck for one can be bad luck for the other,
But that’s okay, because now I finally have a happy mother.