Sudeshna writes about the daily deaths that a woman dies in an abused marriage. A powerful social commentary, exclusively for Different Truths.
I am counting, counting the deaths that I have to die The first was when you first raised your hand I know it will not be the last your brute strength left indelible marks on my softness A bit of crust frosted and settled at the edges of my heart Every time you vent your inadequacies your frustrations your impotent rage The crust hardens and digs deeper I don’t look at the mirror anymore why should I look at the non-healing weals I hardly recognise myself I fail to understand my own reactions I cover the bruise I veil the cuts lest I become weak I nurse your wrongs I keep them alive I have started enjoying our pantomime Relishing in fact the pain inflicted As I bide my time when the day will dawn ...and your strength will leave you in my hands.
Visual by Different Truths