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,

Only talks.


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.


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