Echoes Of A Silent Struggle

Amidst the chaos in life,
I take a chance to breathe.
I refrain from thinking too much.
I bow down in temples and pray for consolation.
I cross bridges of fire without as much a blink.
I’ve come to realize one thing—

Scars of trauma.
And the bitterness of the violence,
My charred heart,
And the stains on my eleven-year-old garments-
Are hard to get rid of, to ignore, and to forget.
And now, now I’m tired.

If I decide to take my life-
On a day full of bustles and activities,
On a day filled with children’s cheers and ululations,
On a foggy morning filled with hymns of nature,
Then you’ll know;
That all along,
The signs were there, radiating-
Beaming with pride,
Like neon signs on a stormy night.
The signs were there-
Silently begging you,
With vigor and calmness.
Like a paradox.

I’m tired—
Of pretending like every waking moment is not a nightmare.
Of crying in dark alleys and hiding my face from predators.
Of carrying this weight, this burden in my bony body.
Of feeling abandoned by humans and the universe.
Of disappearing for months in the comfort of the blankets.
Of jump-scares each time men extend their hands to me in greeting,
Or every time my manager closes the door to his office with me in it.
My shoulders appear haggard, Now, now I’m tired.

Help, is all I say as-
My memories float,
On the surface,
Beckoning me to rise.
Beckoning me to live again-
To live again and make some more,
Live again to tell tales;

Tales of redemption and tales of winning,
That one can bounce back and live again,
That one can finally love and be loved,
That those rapists do not have any power over us.
But, my legs are sinking more and more,
I’m nearly touching the surface.
And as bubbles are seen floating in the water,
All I can say is,
Help.