Dear God, Why Did You Make The Night? (A Poem)

It shocks me beyond words to think of the horror that the girls in the Muzaffarpur children’s home in Bihar have faced. This poem cannot come close to expressing the damage that such sexual, mental and physical violence does. Nevertheless, I had to write about it. This poem is for those girls and their immeasurable strength.

‘Dear God, Why Did You Make The Night?’ by Shreya Manna

Dear God, why did you make the night?

Through the tiny window in my room, I know it is morning.

I hold onto it. Did you know I found a pansy flower on the floor today?

The petals curl so pretty in my hands. Like newborn baby lips.

The night swallows it all: the call of the birds, the rays of the sun,

The pansy flower. I can never make it stop.

 

Dear God, why did you make the night?

I found the pansy flower again. Just a little crunched up

In a corner of my bed. Was it plucked by someone?

Did it get hurt? The stem is so soft. The leaves could have grown.

I don’t want them to hurt. Please don’t let them get hurt, God.

Not even in the night when Uncle comes.

 

Dear God, why did you make the night?

In the morning, I saw big people put dead flowers around Uncle’s neck.

The petals are shrivelled. Rotting black at the ends.

But Uncle’s clothes are always white.

The colours make me scared. Do you know if the flowers cry?

How do they wipe away their tears?

I close my eyes and wait for the night to pass.

Isn’t that how flowers survive the night, God?

How else can I see the morning again, God?

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