Turn the Page, Turn the Life | A Writer’s Battle for Survival | Help Her Win
Turn the Page, Turn the Life | A Writer’s Battle for Survival | Help Her Win

The Drum Beat

The Drum Beat

4 mins

I stare out of the window now, 

My heart- a heavy stone. 

I watch then, the very clouds I've been watching these years. 

A man then simply drums away, he beats the skins and sings, 

A group of men then joins in. The hour is theirs to swing. 

With each beat it falls, my life a shattered shroud. My beat softens as I look out of that window my hopes all lost and gone. 

It blurs suddenly as mine eyes grow heavier with every single beat,

I try to draw this world to close, but the beat can still be perceived.

I shut my eyes and I shut my ears, this beat continues to hurt. 

The door flings open and crying she comes in.

She turns on the light bulb and makes a grab at me.

She cries my name again and buries me in her embrace. And softly she whispers that she is sorry that I had to go through the same. 

Had I had been careful, 

Had I only been slow to trust?

She drags to the couch and wraps my naked torn body in a towel. 

I feel it warm my body, and I feel it warm my soul, but the beat continues,

Oh well, it stops? how I want it to stop! 

How I crave now for peace and quiet and the lights to be turned off! 

It continues still. She talks and cries and holds me. She strokes my hair and rubs my palms and she speaks. 


Then she grabs my face and cries with me urging me to say something. She wants to hear me and she wants to feel me and all I can manage is,

It hurts.

The image then still haunts me. I hear the beat grow loud. 

My world then seems to tremble, my mind then gives way. I fall into my sister’s lap and let my soul melt away 

My father. My own father. How could he? 

Last night was rather painful. Last night was so red. 

Never had I woken up before to find me pinned to my own bed. 

I woke up to a struggle, my father’s tongue on mine. 

I tried to push, I tried to scream but my mouth was ruled by him. I felt its taste, a bitter breath and rough hands enclosed on me. 

My clothes were then torn and I felt the cold suddenly come over me. Bits and shreds then followed.

The pain was so severe and new. He tortured me all through the night. My screams and cries,

Barred from escaping my throat, a single hand. The hand that held me as a child.

The hand that grew me. 

Was over my mouth last night. 

She holds me tightly then as I weep. The pain was unbearable and the wave still fresh. The drum continues to beat.

Oh, would it stop? Just make it stop! I cry. It’s deafening and hurting and it might make me bleed some more. 

Nevermore am I to walk out again and never want me to see this man again.

The strong hands that hurt me once when I was wrong proved its strength again.

I had been beaten again left to wonder where I had been wrong. Never before had my father’s wrath had been so hurtfully strong. 

She cries to me. Her hurt as much as mine. 

She's faced this punishment for her wrongs and now I know its pain. 

I hope that she'll save me. She doubts she ever can. My sister can't even save herself from my father’s hurtful hands. 

Our father. Our own father proved his strength again. 

I shut my eyes and mind. I try to push it away. I might have had been wrong sometime, 

The man continues his beat,

Louder, faster and it hurts. 

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