BEHIND THE CRIMSON CURTAIN

The reality of domestic violence is all too true and it can happen to anyone, yet it is often overlooked. ‘’Love is blind’’ is quite a damning statement that keeps spouses and kin in abusive relationships, whether psychological or physical. It is quite similar to the psychiatric disturbances of Stockholm syndrome that indulges the victims not to seek outside help even when going through the most inhumane experiences. No one should live under the complete dominion of another unless the relationship dwells on a bedrock of mutual respect, therefore one should have freedom to express their innermost thoughts in a non-violent manner and be heard. Fear and uncertainty about the stability of your future shouldn’t be a stumbling block to seeking justice for yourself or your loved ones, reach out, there’s always help.
Two years back, a trusted friend of mine narrated a painfully upsetting story that rang quite emotional to him. A story of torment and pain towards his siblings and mother. Revenge shouldn’t be a thing to ever consider. However, I created a version of the story with statistically true consequences of domestic violence. A story of…
POETIC JUSTICE
Upon his cold heart they staged the avenging dagger
The tale of a self-proclaimed monster, sorry, father!
Aggressive, intolerant, his hands a cursed torment upon his sons
He was unforgiving, a drunken sob with a temper as of a trance
Tracing scars of unloving kindness upon their delicate skin
With every whip and cord enraging the haunted beasts within

The youngest, only a babe was left joyless, and daily wept
Blood stained sheets and resting upon his pillow now wet
He couldn’t understand what he’d done to deserve the pain
As he looked up at his brothers now in their cold chains
They pat his little head and he knew it would all end
As they finally became one with the night, blend

He was snoring wildly upon his usual damp chair
Hands on the bottle without a chance of care
He slept on not knowing it was his last nap
That his life was fast fading with a ghastly snap
They heard their mother’s sobs from her room
She’d been locked in, awaiting another tantrum of doom

But no more, for her sons were her abounding knights
Concealed in the winds was his scream on that cold night
For in life he lived a lie, and in death he could now lie
Asleep, unawake, unquestioning of the food upon his platter
For his heart in a thousand pieces, was undoubtedly shattered
Relentless in life was it upon bringing terror to his kin
In death was it justly ripped from his unloving skin.            
                   Collin Atuti

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