For Arushi.


I’m holding my pen, not letting it spill

Typing words, then erasing them; I admit

Today, a vague feeling creeps through my fingers

I hold myself; bridling, for their

Malicious minds would twist my words

What if I’m murdered tomorrow?

Along with my body being cut and sewed;

They’d meddle with it to

Find traces of my murder’s hands on me.

My things would be intruded, too.

Agitated, I still write

They may look into my diary; the one

I let no one touch, and rip the pages where

They find ill written about my sister, and,

Claim sibling rivalry, or

Pry into my social media to notice my captions-

Being weary of the world, and,

Hang me to the noose of depression

I will write

Don’t tamper my words, or misconstrue

My metaphors, and put

My loved ones in pain.

My dubious fingers manage to scribble

It’s okay; let the bloodied hands be hidden

Just, don’t put the innocent to shame.

Don’t. I love them.

****
~Nida

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