Broken Soul's Screams of Silence

Abhinav Patel

The horror of it all, the pain that's felt
By girls who suffer in silence, as if dealt
A cruel hand by fate, left with no choice
But to endure the abuse, with no voice

It starts at home, with family and kin
The very people who should protect and win
Their trust, but instead they shatter it
Leaving the girl to suffer, bit by bit

The father who should be a source of love

Betrays her, and turns into a monster to shove
His desires onto her, without any care
For the damage he inflicts, or the scars he'll leave bare

The brother who should be a friend and guide
Preys on her vulnerability, and makes her hide
In fear and shame, as if she's to blame
For his actions that are nothing but a shame

The uncle who should be an elder to respect
Uses his power to force her, and neglect
Her cries for help, leaving her to suffer alone
Feeling helpless and trapped, with nowhere to run

And what about the mother who's supposed to care
She stands by and watches, as if it's fair
That her daughter's innocence is taken away
By those who are supposed to keep her safe and sway

The pain is unbearable, the scars deep
As the girl struggles to keep
Her sanity intact, and her will to survive
Against those who seek to take away her life

She was just a girl, innocent and pure
Until her own family made her feel unsure
Of what love really meant, of what was right
As they took from her the most sacred of light

They whispered promises of protection and care
But then violated her body, leaving her in despair
With each touch, each assault, each degrading word
They chipped away at her spirit, like a cruel, sharp sword

Her body became a battleground, a site of war
As they tore away her autonomy, her right to say "no more"
She was trapped in a nightmare, a hell of their making
And no one was there to hear her heart breaking

Her screams went unheard, her tears unseen
As they continued to abuse her, so cruel and obscene
And she wondered why this was happening to her
Why she couldn't escape, why there was no cure

For the pain that they caused, for the trauma they inflicted
As they used her body, her soul, like a toy, so unrestricted
And she felt so alone, so isolated in her pain
As they left her broken, shattered, again and again

The touch of terror, the weight of fear,
A trauma that's too heavy to bear,
A darkness that engulfs the soul,
A wound that refuses to be made whole.

The body, once a temple of peace,
Now a battlefield where violence won't cease,
The mind, once a garden of dreams,
Now a barren wasteland with endless screams.

The pain of abuse, a shattering blow,
Like a wildfire, it consumes us whole,
Like a serpent's venom, it spreads and bites,
Draining us of hope, as day turns to night.

Metaphors fail to capture the pain,
Words are powerless, as the tears rain,
Similes can't express the trauma we bear,
As we try to heal, to find some repair.

Personifying the pain, it takes on a life,
A demon that cuts us like a knife,
An enemy that we fight every day,
A shadow that refuses to go away.

The imagery, vivid, in shades of gray,
A memory that never fades away,
The scars that we bear, etched in our soul,
A tale of suffering that's yet to be told.

The symbolism, the weight of a chain,
A weight that we carry, like a ball and chain,
A prison that we cannot escape,
A sentence we serve, without any respite.

The alliteration, a sound so sharp,
A scream that we stifle, deep in our heart,
The assonance, a whisper so soft,
A plea for help, that we barely cough.

The consonance, a moan so low,
A plea for mercy, that no one will know,
The repetition, a mantra we say,
A hope for survival, day after day.

The rhyme, a melody that we hum,
A song of sorrow, that we sing alone,
The rhythm, a beat that we follow,
A dance with fear, that we cannot disown.

The onomatopoeia, a sound so raw,
A cry for help, that echoes and draws,
The hyperbole, an exaggeration so strong,
A pain that's intense, that lasts so long.

The irony, a cruel twist of fate,
A punishment we didn't anticipate,
The allusion, a reference to pain,
A history of suffering, that we can't contain.

The enjambment, a break so sharp,
A fracture that leaves us in the dark,
The caesura, a pause so long,
A moment of silence, when nothing is wrong.

The euphony, a harmony so sweet,
A healing that's slow, but sure to meet,
The cacophony, a discordant sound,
A suffering that's real, that we can't confound.

The anaphora, a repetition so strong,
A message that we want to prolong,
The epiphora, a repetition so clear,
A hope that's renewed, every year.

The symploce, a repetition so bold,
A truth that's spoken, that never grows old,
The metonymy, a name we give,
A trauma that lives, that we can't outlive.

The synecdoche, a part of a whole,
A wound that's deep, that takes its toll,
The antithesis, a contrast so stark,
A pain that's felt, that leaves its mark.

The apostrophe, a plea so loud,
A call for justice, that we shout out,
The cliché, used with irony,
A statement of truth, that's hard to see.

The pain of abuse, a burden we bear,
A story that's real, that we cannot repair,
The trauma we face, an endless fight,
A hope for justice, that shines so bright.

Innocence shattered, trust broken,
The weight of shame, a heavy token.
Silenced by fear, unable to speak,
The pain and trauma, forever unique.

A teacher's hand, a predator's touch,
The innocence of childhood, ripped asunder much.
Unaware of danger, we blindly trust,
Yet monsters lurk, waiting to pounce and thrust.

The memories haunt, never to fade,
A wounded heart, forever unafraid.
To speak out, to demand justice,
To fight for healing, amidst the chaos.

The scars remain, etched on the soul,
A reminder of a time, we lost control.
Yet within the pain, there lies a power,
To overcome the darkness, in the darkest hour.

Through metaphors and similes, we paint the pain,
The personification of trauma, the imagery of shame.
The symbolism of innocence, shattered and torn,
Alliteration of anguish, the consonance of mourn.

The repetition of sorrow, the rhythm of grief,
The rhyme of trauma, a silent, yet thundering thief.
The onomatopoeia of cries, the hyperbole of fear,
The irony of justice, a victory never quite clear.

The allusion to a world, where safety is the norm,
The enjambment of hope, where healing takes form.
The caesura of resilience, the euphony of strength,
The cacophony of outrage, the anaphora of events.

The epiphora of stories, the symploce of pain,
The metonymy of healing, the synecdoche of the slain.
The antithesis of silence, the apostrophe to hope,
The cliche subverted, a warrior refusing to cope.

The darkness of trauma, never to be denied,
Yet within the pain, there is hope, we shall abide.
For the power of healing, the strength of survivors,
Shall rise above the pain, with hope as their drivers.