Fragments of the Heart

Droplets of Despair

Fragments of the Heart

All Rights Reserved

© DaniyahA

F R A G M E N T - 90

Droplets of Despair

Above,
The water splutters from the shower-head,
But it gushes a hot, clear flow a second later.
In the tub,
I don't hesitate to cover myself in the warmth,
For I enjoy the droplets burning my naked skin.
Standing there,
I am nothing but numb, aching muscles,
Limbs hanging on to each other by weak sanity.
Through the mist,
I see the past hours under closed eyelids,
Horrible encounters that seem to never have been.

Leaving work alone,
I carry my bag tightly to my side,
My file against my pumping chest.
A dark realm,
The city at night is unusually quiet and still,
A street light flickers as a cool breeze passes.
Across the road,
A police car is parked with its driver inside,
her hot drink in a lazy grip.
As I walk by,
She notices me before fixing her posture,
My scarf no doubt the start of her worries.
Avoiding my gaze,
She sips her hot drink,
Evidently burning her tongue.
Loosening my hijab*,
I feel uncomfortable when I don't need to be,
But I quickly remind myself not to dwell further.
Walking firmly ahead,
I calmly turn around the corner,
And am relieved of her staring eyes.
Realizing all too late,
I have taken the short-cut to home,
That has fewer lampposts and darker corners.
Cursing my brain,
I increase my pace when out of the blue,
My scarf is pulled back without warning.
Shrieking,
I drop my file to pull it back,
But am quickly shoved to the corner wall.
Face against bricks,
I struggle to get out of their grip for a moment,
Then they shove me to the ground.
Belongings on the floor,
I cry as I pick everything up,
Hearing the rustling footsteps fade away.
Paycheck missing,
I count other lost things that were in my bag,
Then get up to wrap my hijab around my head.
Looking back,
I see that a familiar parked car had driven close,
Enough around the corner to see it all happen.
Shaking my head,
I stare at a pair of useless eyes,
Wondering how hard it could have been for her to help.

Opening my eyes,
The water has turned cold,
And I shiver.
Turning the faucet,
I watch the shower-head leak,
The flow of useless water growing weak.
Stepping out of the tub,
I grab a towel and leave the bathroom,
The past, and my state-of-mind.

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*hijab //noun// a head covering worn in public by some Muslim women.