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Amrita Dutta Feb 2015
She was an Enigma.
A source of awe.
Some called her the calm before a storm
Others felt she was the destruction after.
Few noticed
(and rightly so)
That she was neither.
She was the storm itself.
Yet, not one of destruction.
For, no part of hers was ever generic.
She was a silent storm
Of calm, of hope, of love.
She was the whirlwind
That brought you out of
The abyss of negativity.
She was that gust of wind
That pushed you to be the best version of yourself.
She was the storm that you'd embrace
To realise;
She was the serendipity-
The happy accident-
That you never saw coming.
This one will remain special for an eternity, for it was written for someone who is extremely special herself.
Amrita Dutta Feb 2015
Despite all attempts
The dreaded day has arrived.
The moment I've wished
To forever avoid.
When your laugh can no more
Be initiated by me.
When the pain in your eyes
You don't wish me to see.
You've found better lands.
You've seen better days.
You've moved to new places.
I'm stuck with my old ways.
You've grown, say some
While others frown at you.
While I defend my best mate,
From those haters who are new.
New to my world and to our friendship
New to my life,
Telling me to get a grip.
Forget the spectators,
Ignore them all.
Fly out, soar high
I'm right here, to break your fall.
Amrita Dutta Feb 2015
Man is prone to fears,
they say.
Some fear the dark,
Others dread an obstacled way.
To each is his own,
A battle to fight,
Looking, seeking
For a way to capture the light.
I too have
My set of frights, demeaning.
That can be analysed not
Despite all screening.
For my monster is neither virtual
Nor real.
Yet my flights it restricts
And my dreams, seal.
My dreaded demon
Is the mirror on the wall,
That overlooks my glory
And highlights each fall.
The mirror that looks me in the eye,
While telling me each pitfall
Was deservingly served.
It is a devil that exists
Both inside and out.
The torture unleashed via
A muffled shout.
I can turn to none,
Nor plead within.
For it is the punishment
Of an unatoned sin.
Amrita Dutta Feb 2015
Beyond each painting
Is great meaning yonder,
That may or may not
Help your heart grow fonder.
The scroll that holds mere words
Holds potential to unleash emotion, undescribed.
The pen that is one's greatest ally
Is indeed thus
For it hides all folly.
The smile that is plastered forever on
Hides the dark within, each shade forlorn.
The masks that show up each day,
All day long,
May not truly portray where your heart does belong.
Seek, approach and break free of this.
The masks you put on
Have hindered your bliss.
Amrita Dutta Jan 2015
Dear mommy,

I've been waiting all day
For you to be back,
The sky too has turned from blue to gray.
I think it is sad,
The way that I am,
That you are so, so far away.

While I'm talking to the sky,
There's a knock at the door
And I jump out in glee, letting out a cry.
The doorknob turns and you come in,
You seem to be lost, I wonder why?

Daddy tells me you're busy with work,
He assures me that I'm not at fault.
I try to believe him,
Keep that mind,
While watching you down another bottle of malt.

It hurts me that I can't take away your pain,
It haunts me how you're drowning in sorrow.
I wish I could help you get inside my head,
So you could see that we will have a better tomorrow.

Don't believe the world,
The world is full of lies.
Daddy isn't dead,
He's right here, absorbing your cries.

He loves you,
He cares.
He told me, see?
Now wipe away those tears,
And show your big smile to me.
Amrita Dutta Jan 2015
With each step I take
in an attempt to move forth,
I find myself the recipient of
a new objection to my worth.
With each hostile accusation
that I take in my stride
are scores more of insults
hurled at my pride.
I promise of my innocence,
I plead to be heard.
But who would vouch for my say,
who'd consider my measly word?
Every breath I take is
considered to be tainted.
They tell me I deserve it,
it's a world that I have painted.
With this burden on my head
that I can take no more,
I finally pull the trigger
to unfurl the hurt in my core.
With the last of my breaths,
painful, slow,
I ensure that the note
in my pocket does show.
The unwanted repitition of
the words of my soul
is perhaps the last thing
to make my worthless life a whole.
An apology, a cry
to my lovely wife of late,
"I'm sorry, my dear,
that I lost our battle with fate."
Amrita Dutta Nov 2014
It's the same dark evening
I've grown accustomed to.
The terror of approaching footsteps
(for me) is nothing new.
A drunken holler at the door
sends a chill down my spine.
I know it is time again
to face the wrath of cheap wine.
With trembling hands and a racing heart
I fumble at the door.
My body tries its best to resist
the abuse it has endured before.
Yet, against my wishes
the door is now ajar.
The man who comes barging in
is terrifying even from afar.
With no barrier between us
and pure rage in his eyes,
he does what I expect
and erupts into wild cries.
"YOU *****", he screams
(the man that I'd wed)
whilst charging at me,
(his humanity-all shed).
Blow after blow
he plants on my frame.
Slaps, kicks and punches
have become his favorite game.
Each humiliating strike
that I wordlessly embrace
attacks my dignity
until is left no trace.
After his outburst
(an everyday tale, of late)
he staggers off to bed
(his newfound best mate)

Now I'm alone,
beaten and bruised.
The pain of mental hurt
overpowers the blood oozed.
Is this it then?
The reward for being nice?
My kindness taken for cowardice
non-violence paying its price?
Is it my FAULT then,
to be born a girl?
Is it reason enough
for all atrocities he hurls?
I lift myself up
to take a deeper look at me.
Features lost in bloodshot red,
there is nothing left to see.
I drag myself to bed now,
It already is very late.
I wait for sleep to carry me off
to a land of better fate.
#domesticviolence #sexism #hurt #pain #abuse
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