She knows who rules here
as her wrist is pressed without care.
she bows sheepishly:
tender obedience
sweet slavery.
the doors and the windows are closed.
can anybody hear her screams behind the red curtains?
her blood draws invisible patterns on the white wall.
(they could have had it all)
she surrenders again:
a punch,
some slaps,
he has a strange way of showing love.
(she can't remember who said that)
the king orders.
the king blames.
they don't burn in the same flames.
how many names can love have?
she is so ashamed of being weak.
she doesn't know how to count her blessings
anymore.
(did he say who**?)
her body can't hide the truth:
a broken arm,
some bruises,
a recent scar.
(why is happiness so far?)
she drags her chains,
ironing his shirt perfectly,
cooking his favourite meals,
pampering him as she was told
to do, saying in-between teeth
i love you.
she shivers:
it is 5 o'clock,
he is coming home.
the palace is clean,
no dust or stain.
it is sunny and warm
but she can only see rain.
he doesn't look at her
as she talks about visiting her family.
it is too late.
a horrible mistake she has made.
(he is so jealous and insecure)
anger is his serenade.
i could see her old despair
disguised behind her aching eyes
as somebody stroke her hair.
i could witness her pain and shame:
pity was all around.
how imperfect can love get?
how difficult is it to bury the past
in a shallow ground?
karla bardanza
(just an old poem i wrote a couple of years ago)
