Poems by Krutika Zambre
Trigger Warning: Mention of violence, abuse
White
white
Has a curious knack
Of drawing out blood
i. petite age
happiness
of newly white denims
and a five year old self
short hair, impish flair
Trying to catch a butterfly
toe twisted in a rock
a quick jab
that fabric drab...
in scarlet knees galore.
ii. pubescence
locks of hair like
trapeze artists reaching out
waiting for the football game
seated on a stone or shame
Hushes
And Whispers
Guilty thighs
Endometrial dye
And a "risky" offwhite skirt
iii. burning age
on the knees
in the house of abuse
shivering knuckles
Numb neurotudes
Broken nose
Bruised lip, crimson teeth
"Nobody can know."
iv. white has a curious knack
of drawing out blood
furious screams
unheard pleas
head banged against the floor
in quick second
martyred by an unknown self
and a beautiful white shirt reborn
in red.
Truth
Truth
Is a little child
Tender,
Curated,
Abused.
Celebrated as a token on her best day,
Thrashed
If she misbehaves.
Truth
Is a little child,
Capable
But haunted
By what she cannot be,
Donning a uniform,
Neat and tidy,
Off to school,
Giving her attendance:
"Present, Sir!"
And then sinking into the sidelines,
Having lunch alone,
Because no one wants to be friends with Truth;
She's
Different.
Truth
Is a little child
Learning to hide herself,
Embittered,
Collecting the pieces of her disheveled past,
Trying to make sense of her loss,
Grieving forever
For a world that tortured and abandoned her
and a home she couldn't return to safety to
She grows up,
Only to forget herself,
Becoming someone
Acceptable,
Loveable
And
Fun to
play
with.
Flight
The narcissist excavates my death and shouts at my corpse till it fears death
So I live in an in between
Rebelling against my dying the only available act of revolution; however futile
My blood that spills down my nose is a confirmation that I'm still alive
The salt of the red fluid a nutrition I'll hook onto
Hook onto
And then the tears, my sweet friends, gently stream in to help
They all think harm is loud
Loud like his cacophony, loud like the chaos he creates
Loud like his plucking away of every humane boundary
Loud like my pained bellows
Loud like his laughter as he tells me that everyone who can hear him inflicting his horror onto me
Is gonna abandon me
For I'm simply an inconvenience
That draws him, and his terror into their lives
But it's quiet
Quiet as the spectator who looks away
Quiet like my surrender to the floor
Crumbling on my knees
Quiet like my retreating into the cocoon in a reverse metamorphosis
Quiet as my frozenness
when they do abandon me because I'm simply an inconvenience that draws him, and his terror into their lives
It's quiet like my awkward giggles as I laugh off scars as trivial accidents to not fall into the rabbit hole of triggering questions
Quiet like my absence from the life that was promised to me
But was never to be mine
He'd make sure it wouldn't be.
It's quiet like my cries under the blanket to not attract attention from the terroriser, lest I be flagellated to silence
It's quiet like my quietness against injustice inflicted upon me, not cause I'm a coward, but cause I'm smarter than inviting more ravaging into my life
And it's quiet like the ink that will never spill for my deepest trauma
Hidden by my psyche ever so kindly to protect me from perceiving it
But what else is quiet is my bravery of each day
And those small victories that only I'll ever be witness to
What's quiet is the spark of promise and hope that doesn't need to be a fire right away
What's quiet now is that old spiritual gaslighting which tells me my thoughts attract my oppression
What's quiet is relearning of safety in speaking truth
Unlearning shame
What's quiet is that voice which tells me I shall be punished brutally if I ever write something beneath literary acclaim
So here's a sinking into my power through acknowledgement
Of the bruise that wasn't bandaged but hidden
Of the truth that spilled red on a canopy of white lies
and a metamorphosis that doesn't require flight yet
Just a fight
Not a weapon yet
Just a rite
To write
Is to reclaim
Soft for now
Tomorrow loud
Beyond the shadowing of death.
Krutika Zambre is a poet and spoken word artist known for her featured work on platforms such as Live Wire, The Alipore Post, and Spill Poetry. Her poetic voice gracefully explores themes of sensitivity, mythology, science, and femininity.