Abuse is abuse

The girl cried into the night,

Sounds of her sorrows reverberating,

And crashing onto the neighbour's roofs.

"What is it, my dear? Why are you wailing?", the neighbours hurried towards the child.

"My pa came home today and slapped my ma.", she said amidst sobs.

"Oh dear. These men! Their hands are conditioned 

To smack women so often,

The women in the house flinch like reflex on touch,

And hide in the dark to escape their wrath. Oh you poor child.", they held their chin in their palms,

to hold the sorrow of the child and the misfortune of her ma.

The next day she cried again 

And the neighbours hurried to her doorstep,

The misfortune of her ma being

Mumbled under their breath.

"My pa is bleeding. Amma hit him without reason. Please help my pa!"she begged for their help.

The neighbours peered with contempt

"What a spineless man!", they laughed and they left,

The echoes of their laughter settling down,

Weighing down like anchors of stigmas and ideals around the father's existence.

Around a man's existence 

And a woman's existence.