Voices of Her Ghost

A hundred hours of silence, 

And I still haven't mourned myself,

Having lost a friend and a loved one too,

Waiting to be healed by time itself.

 

I may be clothed, but I feel naked,

Lying here helpless, as I laid there.

Staring at the world around me, afraid

Neither me nor mine they would spare.

 

You cleanse me with water,

Keep me covered in a linen shroud,

Then throw at me your filthy words,

Or an ominous silence, even more loud.

 

Some worried faces, some nonchalant nods,

Some advice from the old and wise.

An accident it was, or ill fate,

And yet, all your tongues called it a vice.

 

Those judging eyes; their glances.

I see death in your momentary stare.

They carry around like incense sticks,

The stench of shame, lingering in the air.

 

My parents for sure only did me good.

How dare you blame it on bad parenting?!

Remorseful and tired they might've been 

To believe and give into all this badgering.

 

I agree I should've been more cautious myself

Not of those men I knew, but of you,

Who have never met my acquaintance while I lived,

Yet reassure, everything about me you knew.

 

I now see the danger in you religious fanatics, 

And the world you've made for me,

Composed of a society led by flag bearers

Of male chauvinism and patriarchy.

 

A life I've spent making people happy and proud.

Tainted are those moments they'll now remember,

By the faced and the faceless, who'll bury me alone,

Leaving behind what you call disgrace, and I, slander.