They came for me
With sticks, stones and barbs.
They cut me to the flesh
Deep, raw and painful to the core.
In agony, I waited for the pain to subside
Thinking at the time that it would never, ever leave.
Some days it took hours,
Other days it took but minutes
For the skin to grow back
covering up the open wounds, but leaving
the scars behind.
To them I was easy prey
For I never struck back.
Every time they hit me harder
I would retreat further into my shell.
Shielding myself from the blows that fell
I curled into a foetal ball, seeking comfort
In the cocoon of my self.
Quiet, but made stronger by my ordeal.
As time went by
I learnt to deal with the blows.
I learnt not to place myself
In the midst of the battlefield.
Instead, off to the side stood I
And watched the blood flow on the ground.
Shattered by the meaningless wasteland,
I shuddered at the weapons that lay spent.
In our world these battles are real
The scars that words leave
Are there for few to see.
But if you can take a moment
Just a second to
And then reply
Imagine a world then
Where the scars fade
Because there is nobody left
To cast the first blow.
And there is a world between us.
In that space
There is a point called the meeting ground.
Let’s make the battle scars
A thing of the past.
~© Shailaja Vishwanath