That Hurts

/ Poem / Sunday, 03 March 2019 17:12

By-Dr Nunglekpam Premi Devi
Independent Scholar

Long down the street I walked up to my destination;
Walked long down every day with just one objective;
Every day up and down, to and for the school;
Long I walked far distance carrying those books;
 Never felt tired carry those; so eagerly awaiting,
Socks pulled up to knees, skirts down upon knees;
Short and dummy and size, interesting holding that belt;
So lightly I walked with those rubber shoes girly;
Kak kak kak and kak; half a step two a step;
Worried enough my shirt’s button is fixed and held tight;
School Belt into my chest up high and all so red holding;
I wonder I may wrongly wear my dress.

Not enough is that alone I never was!
With brother by my side, I walked long down;
We talked and we silence enough long;
We muttered not a word; we balance not a walk;
He walked he passed; I walked I stay aback;
Front and back we trolled paces kak kak and kak;
Passing through those rough stones unattached;
Ah! I still wondered ‘sweating’ and ‘sweating’;
Hurting more when it’s pouring down;
Water, water and water everywhere;
Down the street, we walked deep into the water;
One a step, two a step, walked and walked;
All’s wet, all’s dirtied and all’s muddy, phew!
Skin’s so fragile, cold and wet;
Trembling and shaking; I fear not kakfeis:

I complain not the rain;
I complain not the stony road;
I complain not the inclusion of my brother;
Ah! One thing I fear the worst;
That ‘thief’ I called upon thee hiding;
Hiding beside the bush and bamboo groves;
Trying hard hitting my leg with his pankhotla dart;
One a pulled and two a pulled hitting my naked skin;
Oh! So paining, so cutting and so weekly;
He preyed upon me hitting everyday hiding;
With one blow I faint to red pains;
Back he aims from behind hitting harder;
So scratchy I witness those shots unnoticed;
Making me nervous, I complain those hurts.

 Funny as I walked accompanying my father;
Not every day I could walk, still empty fear;
Crazy ‘he’ took chances hitting again and again;
When my father wasn’t beside me accompanying;
Oh! I remembered with those my teary eyes;
I beg for free passed, I looked back again;
Still ‘he’ didn’t stop shooting ‘Pankhotla’ darts;
Confession never he did; still I complain that hurts;
Pains I fear that hurts, still I walk down crossing.

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