Cactus Miles: Hurt bodies and Pained Minds, A Poem by Juveria

Juveria Tabassum writes about a  woman  who is unable to erase the wounds that have scarred  her mind, body and soul.

This poem is a response to gender based violence against women

Blue and Pink and Purple

I’m perhaps the most colorful person you’ll know.

You see, I have jet black hair,

And, dim, dusky skin;

But on that vast stretch of brown

I have countless distinct islands

Of bright uncommon hues.

There a dash of grey,

Here a gash of pink

And, under my chin, a little mound of blue

And, on my chest, a deep sinful purple

And, between the whites of my eyes,

Hiding behind the dull brown of my pupils,

You’ll see, if you notice, the occasional fire in my soul.

I think it is genetic.

I saw the same colors, in different places on my mother.

I’d say colors have their own story.

A story that thrusts its arms, again and again

Into bandaged Time and bruised Memory,

And pulls out proof of its inevitable reincarnations.

So, every spot tells a tale

Like, the grey on my hand reminds me

Of two nights ago-

My back against the wall,

My face towards the chair

Trying not to see the man sitting in it

Trying not to hear the words coming out of him.

He tried to shove his cigarette stub right on my face

I ducked.

But, the smoke and tears, they fogged my view

 and a sizzle on my arm-

Pain-that my salty tears couldn’t put out.

It had a sense of déjà vu

Like I’d seen the scene before

Some fifteen years ago,

In a different city, a different room.

The next day, I remember,

We went out for dinner, and he said "sorry"

And talked to me, about that night at campus

And he then bought me flowers and a bottle of perfume.

The glass bottle only made me shudder

I remembered the flowers in Ma’s room fifteen years ago

Moments before I heard the door slam,

Moments before I heard the sounds that still echo in my head

Every time I find them coming out of my mouth

Accompanied always with the shattering of some glass,

Or the snap of some belt

Or the loud zing of flesh hitting flesh.

And my mind goes back to that night on campus

When he looked at me, and said, “I love you.”

And the fire from my soul tries to burn that memory down.

I shielded it.

I shielded it with my bare body

And let my flesh turn canvas

For the bright colors to leave their reincarnated stories.

No, Time does not heal wounds.

It resurrects them.