Updated: Jun 3, 2021

By Ranudi Gunawardena | 17 | Sri Lanka

Everyday since I was five,

When the old grandfather clock in the living room

Strikes nine at night, I kneel down on the ground

With her, our hands raised to the heavens,

Our lips fervently moving in prayer. Everyday

In the dead of night as his drunken knock thuds

At the heavy wooden door, I close my eyes shut

And listen to the gentle sound of her footsteps

Towards the door. Everyday he steps into the house,

Smelling of whiskey and beer, screaming in filth,

Swearing, as drunk as a Lord. Everyday he forces

Her to her knees as we had knelt before god

Some five hours ago and beats her with his belt,

Smashing against her head whatever lies closest-

One day a vase, another a teacup, one day a bottle

Of half-empty whiskey. Some days he beats me.

And every dawn I look into her sleepless face,

Removing glass from her hair and wash the blood

Off her face as she runs her long fingers

Along her new purple scars. Everyday she tells me

He’s fighting monsters within. And everyday

We kneel down on the ground, our hands raised

To the heavens and our lips fervently moving in prayer

As if daring God to show His face. 


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#Poetry #Personal #abuse #emotion #domesticviolence

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