Cry of a Soul
What passion it was
anger or lust
who knows what
that turned him into a beast.
Stifling her throat, lest she cry
he infringed her modesty.
With her senses numbed
she sank into oblivion.
Like a loath, she lies ever since
vegetative she has been since:
she- who chose
to nurse our wounds and soak our tears
with tender smile and hands of care.
Now like a loath there she lies.
She cannot stand or even stir
neither eat nor even drink,
speechlessly, in space she stares
it's all hollow, nothing is there.
' She is in coma' doctors announce.
' Alive, she is' judges pronounce.
But, let me ponder:
is she alive though not dead.
Benumbed, she is
her senses do not work.
But what of soul,
doesn't it suffer?
Wasn't it hurt when she was raped?
Doesn't it hurt even now,
as her colleagues
under the cloak of sympathy
daily transgress her privacy.
Hush hush talk all around
and looks of pity that abound,
mercilessly they hurt the soul.
'Human right' that we pride
is all sham
a matter of shame!
Soul in her body still resides
in agony it still does cry;
when will it all end?
poem by Om Chawla
Added by Poetry Lover
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