Wounded
In dark corners of my heart’s slums,
I have sat and sobbed,
For some strange pleasure,
A poor man is robbed.
With every single gesture,
And all the words they had to say,
My wounds turned greener,
And the pain was here to stay.
Strangled in the chains of bitter memories,
And trials of my endurance,
I needed to know I’d survive,
I so needed some assurance.
But then too words never paused,
And humiliation was at it’s best,
My reflection too laughed at me,
As I was put to test.
They handicapped me,
Of my strength and self-esteem,
Taking away my smiles,
And my every single dream.
Bitter words cut like knives,
And how often have I been stabbed,
Of my faith and self-esteem,
How often have I been robbed.
I expected tons of happiness,
And found loads of pain,
When I wanted warm sunshine,
I found myself soaked in the rain.
Cold and weary, hurt and depressed,
I had nowhere to go,
These wounds caused me so much pain,
But they also made me grow.
People never change,
And thus these wounds would never heal,
But I will wear them as evidence,
That now my heart does not feel.
After such a lot of pricking,
My soul has grown numb,
I don’t respond to such words now,
I just sit deaf and dumb.
The world has been successful,
In its act of charity,
To make me realize there are no feelings,
There is no such thing as humanity.
How selfish people are,
And how naïve you can be,
You’ll learn when you are wounded,
You’ll learn when you are me.
Copyright © Apeksha Darbari | Year Posted 2006
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