Poem: If the eight-yr-old Kathua rape victim could explain her misery

But, I couldn’t.
My legs that you thought were
Swift as those of a deer,
They froze.
Maai, they froze.

But I sent the horses home.

Maai, them monsters,
They had no horns or fangs,
Or deadly long nails.
But they hurt me.
They hurt me bad, Maai.
The purple flowers,
The yellow butterflies,
They stood there helpless.

While I sent the horses back home.

Maai,
Tell Baba that I know,
I know,
I know he tried.
I heard him say out my name,
I heard him repeat it loud.
But,
I was sleepy Maai,
I was tired.
Them monsters,
They hurt me bad.

Strange as it may seem to you,
Maai,
It feels like your warmth now.
It doesn’t hurt anymore.
The blood has dried
And it looks like the purple blossoms
That swayed with me in the meadows.
It doesn’t hurt, Maai.

Maai,
The monsters are still out there.
And there are stories too.
Don’t listen to them Maai
Gut-wrenching thing and agonizing they are
And a lot you’ve gone through.

Maai,
Lest I forget,
There’s a temple there
Where lives a goddess.
Thank her,
For I think it’s she who helped,

The horses find their way back home.