Poetry: You were not there

Yes, you were not there,
when they snatched my scarf,
from my head.

You have not seen them,
entering my home, in dark nights,
they choose, our dark store room.

I looked through, from a small hole, in fright,
my mother’s cries, for hours I heard.
Till they faded, among kicks, in her ailing abdomen.

You have not heard, those abusive shouts
when I angrily gaze at them,
you don’t know how it feels!

When they hurl a hundred stones,
not to break the window panes,
but the stillness of nights.

When they deprive us,
of our lone bread earner,
you were not there.

To bear witness to this all, the night they came,
like a tornado, and whirled him along,
Their punches and slaps, I still hear

Just in fear, I couldn’t even ask for the fault,
I saw, I mourned,
in silence.

Like a calm sea shore,
now my brother is no more,
my mother, not feeling any pain,

My father silently weeps,
Not letting tears down his cheeks,
And I am here on street.

Fearless of any harassment,
throw the same stones,
they hurled at my home,

I will chase them,
like they do, to my brothers,
snatch their rifle, the way they seized my scarf.

I will return the traduce, their maligning abuse,
mere a trailer that I have shown,
as you deprive me of my comfort zone.

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