Blood

The bloodied beak

A wrong move

And they came down

Pecking

Like vultures…

My loved ones?

They would pull me up I knew

But not before the rebuke, the humiliation

The discussion

The taking apart

The razing to the ground

And watching the dust

Have a heart, I scream

Heart, wisdom and support all at once

We are not Gods, they say

But you love me, don’t you? I ask

That is why we will see you through, and you know that, don’t you?

Not fair, I moan

Another time, another place, another’s wrong move

I pick the phone and rat

‘How could she?’ My face twists in disgust

In the mirror in front of me, I can only see

The bloodied beak…

Raksha Bharadia

This entry was posted on Friday, December 16th, 2011 at 7:02 am and is filed under Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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