Sabah Batul provides services as a content writer at an ad-agency. She loves to write, and explore social issues via her poetry. She volunteers at other NGOs, as she believes in being the change she wants to see. Sabah has volunteered at Safecity, as it is the Justice League of our time -who makes sure justice is served to the ill-treated! With the League, she helps people fight for their rights and lead a better life.
A tattoo on her skin.
Waiting all day long, broke all the walls she made so strong, around her. Even though they were never much help!
Hope played games, of come and go! Fear of failure starting to grow.
If she lost, going home is a nightmare. Her father waiting at the stairs.
The belt in his hand waited eagerly, to unite with her scarred skin’s agony.
The bells in her heart, were in full speed! Hearing a NO, and she wouldn’t breathe, for another second. As that would mean. Going home. Face her dad. Have another scar on her sleek hands, to show. To cherish, to remember. A lesson for her little bro.
Trembling like the last leaf, on a dying tree. She wanted to learn her fate, and be free. From all this uncertainty.
Then came out the list of students admitted to college. She slowly walked to the notice board that seemed miles away. Her mom said, “Quickly pray!”
The last moments were here, all the students pushed each other around. They were all in a hurry. The one’s who looked at the list, were astound. Her dark skin felt rushing pain. With each push, and poke, more gain, in her misery.
The already worn off skin of an eighteen year old, started bleeding the tales of each whip and lash, given by her very own, dad.
Even when her mighty skin surrendered. She made it to the board to see her result.
Her name was there. The ninth one to be exact. She made it in the list. Daddy won’t bash!
Happiness and joy filled her, as she walked to her mom. The women with more scars, than her own.
Mommy looked at her, and screamed. That was the last of her. And the last deed, that she ever paid for, with a new tattoo on her skin.
-Opinions are of the poet.