Treasure Island

ritwika raha

(07/07/89 / india)

The torn Skin


The skin was pale
The eyes in rest
The resting breath
Amidst million breaths
The moistened lids
The dripping awe
The silent stroke
Of a profaned death
The skin was torn
The incision deep
A girl is raped
Her soul is ripped

The crowd does cry,
It revolts and sees
It rises to strike
But the hands of time
Does subtly play
When the fire dies
With each withering day
And then again the claw
Craves for flesh
And she hides
Again to live
But there aren't any voices then
Unless she, bleeds again
In the cruel hands of savage men

Submitted: Saturday, December 29, 2012

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  • Sambeet Satapathy (12/29/2012 1:36:00 PM)

    An appealing piece of art....somewhere exposes the prevailing anomie where we are born from a woman, follow mother cult yet fail to appreciate the same women....we rise to the occasion, criticize, protest yet finally pacify ourselves with our helplessness...to wake up after another incident.. (Report) Reply

  • Kanav Justa (12/29/2012 8:19:00 AM)

    Very true you wrote.. men have turned monsters... dont know how we would make a society safe to live in.... god bless her (Report) Reply

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