Aman Shyamsukha
- Aug 29
- 2 min read

Why didn't anyone let me cry?

Father,

with all the neighborhood boys

he has gone out to play

while I am painting at home

to keep my loneliness at bay

suddenly I hear him

cry and scream at the same time.

Grasping his bruised knee,

into the house, he rushes

frozen with horror, I scream for help,

while in thick droplets,

his scarlet blood pours

Mother,

you are in the kitchen,

making a dish for a guest,

you run to us with an apron

tied around your waist

"They slapped me hard

then they pushed me to the wall,

they spat on me

and they called me dumb,

they ridiculed at me

like I'm a clown,

I tried

but I fell down."

'Boys don't cry, child,

it will be fine,

now, don't you throw a tantrum,

there's no reason for you to whine.'

Uncle,

his tiny body trembles

from the pain

but he helplessly tries to protect

his boyhood from any stain.

Wiping his face dry,

not a word does he utter;

over the years,

he grows quieter and quieter.

And I wonder why

he never lets out a cry.

I wonder why

he never ever lets out a cry.

"unexpressed emotions never die,

they're all buried alive with a sigh,

they will come forth later

in ways that are uglier"

Mother,

while standing at the edge

of the terrace,

and then freed

from this worldly maze,

he lies on the cemented road,

motionless.

I watch them cover his body

in a pale white sheet

burn it into ashes

of ghostly grey hue,

amidst a pile of wood

and flames of fire,

you tell them,

"He must have tripped and fallen down."

Mother, you are a terrible liar.

Father,

the streets these nights,

they all lie dead,

they look like rivers

devoured by a flood,

a flood that screamed in silence,

a flood whom you, Father,

with your own bare hands,

did drown and smother.

Mother,