She closed the door of her house
Only to turn back and knock again
For one last time
She asked for her house keys.
One last time
Did she turn back to see
The wood, tattered and cut
For 15 years it served as a barrier
Between the world
And her family.
Or so she thought.
For the rest of the world heard it.
Heard her screams
And her shouts, and her pleas too.
But they didn’t listen.
They didn’t listen to the silent crying
They didn’t listen to the glass shattering
They didn’t listen to bones breaking
And yet they whispered.
Ears were filled with gossips,
Evening tea was laden with murmurs
But no one looked at the wooden door
No sight was without squints,
One last time she turned
Her house keys dropped to the floor.
She didn’t pick them up,
Just kicked them out of sight.
No one would whisper secrets anymore.