Clemency
There was a girl named Clemency
who walked with me to college every morning.
Neither shy nor outspoken.
Her face was always concealed by a mask.
I have never seen her smile,
only heard her muffled voice,
soft and distant like a whisper,
lost in silence and sorrow.
She ran faster than the wind,
her footsteps echoing strength.
She could have been an athlete,
but she said, “A little fame is not enough."
One day, I asked about her mask.
She paused, between breath and thought,
her voice trembled, like a fallen leaf,
she removed the mask, and all I heard was, “Elder brother.”
I never saw Clemency again.
They said she had moved far away,
where no one would question the mask on her face.
Left in my letterbox was an old bottle of acid and a whip.
Copyright © Abir Sawran | Year Posted 2025
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