The Rose on the Night Stand

by Smruti Patil

[box]Bībhatsam | Smruti Patil captures the helpless state of a woman trapped in a relationship that disgusts her, a life where hope is scarce and repulsion is in excess. A poem that is themed on the rasa, Bībhatsam (Disgust).[/box]

I get up to see the rose on the night stand,
I stretch out to touch it but he pulls me back,
He pulls me back hard and strong,
As I fall, losing that moment of solace,
His mocking laughter echoes along.

I think of the day that lies ahead,
Yet another day when I will be slaughtered,
Not just in body but in mind and my heart,
I try to count the days spent in this dungeon,
But the scars on my trembling hands stop me before I start.

The rose on the night stand has begun to wither,
Reminding me of my shrinking soul.

From dawn to dusk,
I sit quietly, facing this agony,
No words, no noise, no reason either,
My demure nature, no match to his atrocious authority,
With no one by my side, I am my own griever.

Every night I die again,
When he rips my dignity with his lustful mind,
He touches me never to open me,
But his eyes do the trick of shattering my soul,
And at this moment, I lose another part of me.

The rose on the night stand has now shrivelled,
Reminding me one day it will be my turn.

Under the dim light and the dark shadows,
All I hear is my soft cry for freedom,
Freedom from this cage, freedom from his presence,
Freedom from this bitterness, freedom from this self-pity,
Freedom from this wretched, abhorrent subsistence.

As I dress up tonight to fulfill his desires,
I hold on to that delicate string called hope,
Every day I am born again, only to die,
But I think of that priceless moment
When I will fly deep into the sky.

Though the rose on the night stand has now lost its petals,
Its lingering fragrance strengthens my belief – in hope.

Yet, while I prepare myself to satisfy his notions,
I think of the unknown world that lies outside,
What if there are more like him,
All those who are waiting to lay themselves on me,
Uncertain and unsure, I see the gentle ray of hope dim.

I shudder, I fear, I come back to reality,
I realise that my vulnerability is my own enemy,
I see him waiting to unleash himself on me,
I am swamped in aversion and disgust,
And I repel the idea of breaking free.

Maybe this dirty pond is better than the dangerous sea out there,
I console myself, I hold myself, up for the night ahead,
Somewhere there must be a reason,
If not a new me, there might be a new him,
Filled with doubt yet some hope, I pray there is no new deception.

For, tomorrow again, I will get up
To reach out for yet another rose on the night stand.

Smruti Patil works as an Integration Consultant and lives in California, U.S.

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