~True Story Of Abuse~
Marrying her at an immature age, older by 30 years,
arranged marriage by her father.
Abuse started from day one.
Raped fiercely that night, screamed for hours unable
to move, she dozed off.
Ordering her to get his tray of breakfast, in bed,
once in with the tray, he glared at her,
with ferocious eyes, snatched it, smashed it on her head,
the boiling coffee burning her face, the glass hit her head
strongly, a mortal blow, she lost conscious.
He held her by her hair opened a dark small room
threw her inside, and closed the door. Not knowing
what to do, her face hurting from the burns,
the head bleeding from the glass, so tortured
she dozed off.
A bang the door opens he snatches her from her hair again
take her to the dirty old bed, and begins raping her like
a wild animal. She lost conscious, and woke up again in
the same dark room, dirty, aching, hungry, helpless,
not knowing when someone anyone would come
to her rescue.
After a few nights the same procedure, she started
fainting out of weakness. One dark night he carried
her far in his car, she felt being thrown out,
Awake in the hospital completely blind screamed?
where am I? mother please dad, her mum held her
caressed her, told her what is wrong with her,
due to the abuse of days and nights.
Sorry my child, you will be blind, disfigured, pregnant
but please don't worry, we will take care of you and
Apologizing and crying. They took her home that
day, to her room.They left the room, she never saw
them again, she committed suicide later a knife
right into her heart. Bled to death.
Her true story as an abused newly wed.
Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013
The Grief of Gaziantep.
Hotter than a Dragon’s kiss,
the seas boil under saffron sun.
Tiny thrumming mosquitoes zone on sweating, caramac skin,
Customer entertainment...hanging from shop fronts,
nine carat gold cages lure buyers in,
imprisoned, flush-red faced finches,
wings of pumpkin-orange
hypnotize purring feral cats.
The afternoon air laden with aromas,
Cinnamon, cumin, ginger...
Bluest sky tips to ripe pomegranate.
Anatolian mountain weavers peddle hand-spun carpets,
fine silk, cool cotton, warm wool.
Faded proud portrait of mounted Ataturk accepts toasts
from chinking, inky Turkish and golden-apple tea glasses.
Layered lutes echo the Ciftetelli as lovers entwine... ***
An odd guest delivers a soul-scalding gift.
Blast! Bang! Splatter! Shatters the buzzing streets of Gaziantep.
Poppy-red plasma sprays through ghost-grey gusts...
Whimpering, wailing, screaming, sobbing,
echoes of sadness rupture the sodden earth,
in once jovial corners, now cups of embers smoulder.
Still Mama’s jet hair moves...like Puma’s in slow-motion.
Leapt into an everlasting world of sorrow,
grief beat-beats upon severed hearts.
Ceaseless pain flutters on wings of wind,
as stretchers convey the motionless and the maimed.
A Jasmine flower chain now a poisonous asp.
The apricot horizon flits through boundless violet skies
as the barley half-moon sings with newborn stars.
Bleeding wounds will scab,
hope, the key of freedom, falters.
Swallows weave darkness to night.
Longings for the lost...
as loved ones whisper in their sleep.
*** Ciftetelli..Turkish Folk music often played at Weddings.
Dedicated to the Citizens of Gaziantep Turkey... Where 54 people (including 22 children) were killed and many injured by a suicide bomber on Saturday 20th August 2016. One mother lost four of her five children.
Copyright © Geraldine Douglas | Year Posted 2016
Dry rotted benches all splintered and frail.
Transparent spirits fill the isles and the air.
In the old decrepit church they try to stay seated,
while the Malicious Eulogy is hellaciously completed.
Out in the graveyard down below, the Demons arise.
The howls of anger, the growls of damnation,
pierce the dark night like deadly cries.
As they rise from their tombs, the earth starts to split.
The ground shreds apart like a deep fiery pit.
They enter the church, the spirits gather round.
For they are the Bastards to the God of the Underground.
Their hideous faces stare upon the evil crowd.
The spirits stay silent, they dare not make a sound.
One by one they approach the Black Altar,
bowing before the horned image of their Father.
Behind them stands a pillar carefully balancing her coffin.
Her body lies still, her soul knows not what's coming.
As the fiends turn to surround her death bed,
each one places a sprig of Nightshade neatly around her head.
They feel her naked body, her skin's so pale and cold.
Her virgin soul is what they crave, to them it's as precious as gold.
The funeral is over, no one even cried.
The ceremony begins, Satan's about to take his Bride.
His sons proudly look on as the gates of Hell open wide.
Satan rises to her coffin, his sons go to his side.
He gazes at her beauty, to him it's such a shame,
but his hunger for her virginity defeats him, he's really not to blame.
He covers like a cloud of darkness as lightning strikes the church.
Her soul has left her body, yet her body the Demons will search.
One son tore her heart out, another ripped off her head.
They all feasted on her flesh, their hungers are finally fed.
The maiden stands next to her groom with an evil grin on her face,
Satan smiles back at her, certain the body and soul cannot be traced.
The Demons are done feeding now as their mouths drip with blood.
The ritual is over now for she has united as one.
Her soul is his to flourish on for all eternity,
and it all started with one Malicious Eulogy.
Copyright © Heather Russell | Year Posted 2017