Wednesday, October 30, 2013


In the morning
she would dream
of a princess
a kirpan
a horse in a battlefield
the beautiful turban
wrapped around her head
radiating from her silhouette

At night
he would beat her

And though her heart
would fill with disgust,
she could not deny
that God was in him too.

Ik Onkar Sat Naam

Her days became a blur
covered by shawls
drops of her blood
staining shattered glass
from empty bottles
heaved at her
he would drown himself
in a river of whisky and gin,
cursing her in slurred speech
as he did to her
whatever he pleased
her body, his canvas

Her nights were thoughts
of ways to end
the torture
but they would remain thoughts
because this life
was not hers to give or take

Karta Purakh

And every morning
she would try to embody the spirit
of the princess
a kirpan
a horse in a battlefield
so that one day
she could rise above


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