He struckā
a sudden blow across my face.
Tears surged,
blinding me with salt and silence.
I could not see,
but still he cameā
slaps, fists,
a storm of violence.
He twisted my hair
like a rope of rage,
lifted me by strands
as if to unravel my being.
He clawed at my clothes,
but I clung to fabric
as if it were skin.
He hurled me,
a ragdoll in the windā
I clung to a pole,
fought with every trembling thread of strength.
I could not see him
through the flood in my eyes,
but I felt himā
a shadow pressed against my breath.
āCome out, coward,ā I cried.
āShow your face.
Let us end thisā
once and for all.ā
But he vanished,
as swiftly as he came.
No footsteps,
no echo.
Only absence.
It was a morning of windā
I should have stayed inside.
The gusts struck me
like grief with fists.
The windā
it gave me
a heavy blow
in the face.
