13 October 2012
Wake up, no morning tea. Just a few crumpets and some water please
College ID, and a lucky charm around my neck. A few books and pens, nothing high tech.
I'm mentally a homeless, not a friend nor foe sees I hide it all too well, the torture under my sleeves.
Umm excuse me, do you sell freedom, courage and sweets? I'm far to broke to pay, so I'll just pick pennies from the streets
Dusk cracks the stratosphere, my keys are in hand This is the daring moment I step into a torturing land
No dinner of course, bread has moulded green Floorboard creaks upstairs, and bellowing down the house: "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"
The heart beats a marathon, a fist forcefully smashes my face I am what everyone hates, she tells me. I'm more than disgrace.
Twist the iron lock and watch it rust red, As I lie on the damp floor, something I called my bed
I'm going to be deprived into a spectre, then soon a grave with no name, As I live 2 lives for myself, clearly I'm to blame.
I'm not playing a victim, what game is there to play? When your own parents beat you with pipes, you know you made their day
So next time you walk past, dial 'HELP' on your phones For those helpless young children being abused in their homes.
13.10.2012 ©Hazera Begum
Torturing The Deprived • Opuss № I