Standing By

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Sombre bags encompassing her bloodshot eyes
Red, gossamer like cuts encircling her frail, pallid wrists
A timid gait and quivering hands
Face stripped of emotions, impassive as a rock
And a heart bereft of hope and love

She thought she was alone
When she cried herself to sleep
Or gazed into the distance, listless and unaware
But I was there
Watching, observing and standing by

She reckoned she was overlooked
When she pushed away her uneaten lunch
And distractedly tore the scab of the wound on her arm
But I was there
Watching, observing and standing by

She thought no one noticed her
When she pulled her sleeve over the blade-kissed skin
And yearned to merge into typicality
But I was there
Watching, observing and standing by

She anticipated no help
When she writhed in her sleep, grimacing with pain
As she fought the demons in her nightmares
But I was there
Watching, observing and standing by

Now I regard
The pale, insipid and ghostly body
That lies in the casket
The laceration on her throat: deep, red and juvenile
As I try to vanquish the excruciating pain in my gut

I could have assuaged her pain
I could have provided succour
I could have comforted her with a touch of my hand or a warm embrace
But what did I do?
I watched, observed and merely stood by

 

Photo by glasseyes view

Drishika Nadella

Drishika Nadella

Drishika Nadella is that kind of a person who knows sticking tongues out at people is rude, but does it anyway. She hopes that her personality is more vibrant than her dork-like demeanour. A teenager from India who balances precariously between being a recluse and a pain in the backside, she is rich with dreams and aspirations of becoming a writer one day, and hopes to inspire people with her words. Her blog Desolation and Delectation would be happy to see you.
Drishika Nadella

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