Walk of Pain

“…We’re trekking till I drop dead.”

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With burnt hands and scars of flame I still cooked for him

Woke up very early after a long sexual tourney
Careful enough not to rattle his sleep firstly,
Manage to the kitchen secondly with my eyes still blurry
Fix his meal thirdly, serve him on time and still not to wake him up early
He wakes up to eat,
Every movement with my heart beat
My fingers crossed between my skirt’s pleat
There wasn’t enough meat
He ate in silence and as he swallowed every morsel, my heart went off beat

He walked out of the door, left no money.
Me looking after him like a dummy
Night will fall sooner than later
I had to prepare supper
How can I go borrow money again from mummy?

This marriage is bitterly enduring
I should have seen this night junction from the morning
A journey with no destination.
I will die sad if I don’t create my nation
I should grow enough guts to cease his breath,
Find peace in my nation, and live like a queen.
I know death will come soon for me, but better to die a free man than live a slave
At least I would have one happy moment to die with

But my guts have been replaced with fear
Subject to submission even at the peak of torture
The will to create my destination slaughtered
Women can’t go to court,
Neither can I cease his breath, nor run away, nor talk so
We’re trekking till I drop dead.

Yes I know, but from the start, it was love from the heart, from the start.
I don’t know where we are now but it doesn’t look like the end

So with burnt hands
And scars of flame,
I will still cook for him

7 thoughts on “Walk of Pain”

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