She wanted to scream it from the mountaintops
In the hope that, at least, someone would hear her,
At least, someone would care.
But she couldn’t do that,
She couldn’t make herself say it.
Those words could never come out.
The horrible, painful truth
Which, if let out, would make them see her differently,
Like she’s one of those broken toys
That they have to hide from their children to avoid their incessant crying.
Yes, she is that toy,
Only broken beyond the direst repair.
Her mind’s qualms now resurfacing,
‘If I do it, how will my family react?
How could I do this to them?
My selfish attempt might unshackle me, but they’ll never be whole again.’
‘As soon as the young boy on a bicycle swings his arm,
The whole world will know about
A teenage girl with a preposterous wish
Who ceased to exist when she slashed her wrists.’
She thought she would fine, happy again,
But then the rain took it all away.
The lightning storm drained her of that hope.
Afraid that soon, she won’t be able to take it anymore
And that she will give up.
And then the only thing the people will hear
Would be the echoes still drifting across those mountaintops,
The echoes of a perished soul.
– Rubani Kaur
Photography Credit: Yours Truly