Ringing Glasses

She never told me…

The bangles,

red, blue, green and pink,

all those they wear –

my mother, aunts and grandmother

with happiness of a child

and excitement a bit wild –

had been and are,

only traces of

Her, her burnt eyes,

her lost childhood,

left plays, long forgotten memories,

hushed forbidden love,

unsaid, untold, unspoken sorrow.

 

As if hit by a dagger

as many times as,

the sun has risen

from the horizon and danced

over our heads,

only to fall,

back into the horizon,

with blood

spread.

 

She never told me…

These ringing bangles

had made her life,

more of a hell

And that she had to sell,

these joined fragments of glasses,

for fragments of dreams; crushed,

even before they start;

Even before they have half a chance

to impregnate her mind, her soul and heart.

She never told me…