By Zohra Noushin Ahmed
I am filthy
Raped by 5 men in an attempt to save your life
Yet you can’t look at me
For fear of witnessing your weakness in my eyes.
You failed to protect me
I need you now – yet you reject all that I have left
In order to protect an ego that you cannot justify
In order to hide the hurt that you see reflected in my eyes.
I am a living corpse
Bound to a life that I cannot end
What justice is this
Where my rapists run scot free
and I get bound like a criminal behind bars placed by society
Confining what little life I have left in me
To within the four walls of my prison cum sanctuary.
The law peers closely at the case of revenge I plead
So closely, that justice becomes blurred and lost
The file gets pushed further down the block
And yet another date is passed
Another interval before the next court session can repast
Another trial of terror – I may die at the hands of those desperate to keep me silent
And justice may never come to pass.
Yet society remains obscenely quiet
Calmly watching from behind locked doors
As my life crumbles around me
Providing them with yet another show
to feed their eternal boredom
Entertaining, is it not? When you are the ugly secret the world hides from itself
For fear of having to face a reflection which is not all together too pleasant.
There are others like me
Hiding behind bars placed around them by friends and family
It is the strangers who then come to our aid
Throngs of protesters and angry ‘activists’
They come like the night angel
And strive to free us from our now eternal cage.
The government turns its back on us
And so do the people we once called our own
It is so much easier to pretend nothing happened
Than face the beast – and fight for the protection of your home.
It is easier to ignore evil
Than strive to set the caged angels free
The fire of vengeance is too hot to be near
Yet it burns within us
Brighter than ever
The resistance we face is natural yet a punishment in itself
The law is against us
There is no justice to be dealt
What we must have
We must take for ourselves
For in this darling country of mine
Nothing is given – without a fight to the death.