Nothing Else Matters


“Is anybody in?”                    

Rockets up her disgruntled scream,

Her winking eyes staring up, beating the Sun,

Crows were drooling on high branches till then, had their heads dripping,

Caught in the trance of that tranquil noon,

They awaken displeased, shocked, alert,

Flock away to a safer position for a better view, cautious on the mid-street wires,

Her shrill pitch jolts up the building, has its windows jerk open with a shudder,

Summons the healing cement and bricks,

Tweaks their basic motive to exist,

Fumes of wrath sink in the air, has it sullen and heavy,

Robs the day, bright till then, of its yellow order,

Culls down an entire slot of eyes,

Rocked out of precious hard-earned slumber,

Disturbed, curious at her loud emergency,

“I need help, I need mercy,

I stay in the shanty by your side, just adjacent,

A matter of less life, and much death it is,

I have a patient…”                 


Stitches on her face,

Bandaged sterilized destiny,

Bruises, cuts and blots,

Traces of fresh injuries,

Veiled her strong aura,

Labeled on it a leopard skinned future,

Together, they grabbed attention for her,

Got minds inside reeling,

Steering into varied lanes of assumed conclusions,

Leafing back their pages of experience,

The board on their entrance read, “Let No Addict Die”,

They decide to abide by, to let her in,

At least pull her soaring volume indoors,

Prevent neighbors from assuming,

It’s Showtime at the Madhouse…


Kicking slippers off her feet,

Unable to reply questioning male stares,

Low headed, she hurries into the empty office,

Collapsing on feeble plastic, she looks up at the gathering outside,

Gasping for breath, she rings aloud,

“I need some minutes with the owner, “

Her eyes drill into the void, her head hangs down,

Her gaze, fixed on her lap,

Unruffled by trickling droplets of sweat,

In confluence with narrow streams of tears,

Dripping from her nose tip,

Smudging her fate wet,

Her overworked sari…


The chief in frowns, steps in,

Slams the door behind,

Hints in gestures to his staff,

To be ready outside, stay close by,

Her sobs thwart out of the room,

Her cries and pleads clamor,

Another evening meant fresh wounds,

New sessions of beatings for her,

She was withering away under the brunt of violence,

Her husband’s penniless rage in his alcoholic haze,

Now, seemed ceaseless, murdered her spirit every day,

Strangled her slow and steady,

Robbed her off whatever she made sweeping houses,

Her tanned youth, her days green, her vitality,

But, she swore before God,

She would be with him forever,

For after him, she knew well,

The world could only sell her,

Present her in charity, an anonymous death …


All of a sudden,

Shrieks of the chief bullet out,

Instantly, overpowers her howl,

Chairs screech, the door flings open,

Terrorized he runs out,

Grabbing the stony stair railing,

Abuses his profession, his commitment towards a cause,

Orders fuming red, “I want this woman out, immediately, “

Her honor won’t do, are we that hungry?

That’s not our price for treating her husband,

How dare could she take me for a pimp?

Could she think so lowly of us?

How dare could she reach out for her blouse?

How dare could throw that bait, could she try undress?

I want her out now, all at once…”


The most aged of his staff,

Rides on his advantage, wraps the sari around her well,

Cautious to touch, he was scared,

She was still screaming for help,

Her blouse still pulled down, forgotten,

While, they joined him to drag away her rebelling feet,

Staggering behind, she was spitting out shame, helplessness, begging an answer from the chief,

Shoved outside now, she still sat clutching the grill,

Weeping in hauls, a dark shadow eclipsed the atmosphere,

Steps deserted the gate, shocked voices growled from the office room,

Soon, she was gone,

Only a crushed slip thrown inside,

It read in the native language,

“Honor is too little a price,

I loved him,

We swore to be there for each other,

I have no money, but I’ve my soul, my life,

Help me, rescue two lives,

We’re perishing alive…”






(A day of strange observations in the life of an addict, when under treatment in a rehabilitation center in India.)




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7 thoughts on “Nothing Else Matters

  1. Reblogged this on Lyrix & Life and commented:

    (A day of strange observations in the life of an addict, when under treatment in a rehabilitation center in India.)

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