She curls into one feeble pile and crawls excruciatingly onto the rugged floor. She helplessly inhales the heavy dusty air. The cold blood oozing from her frail body rills through the tattered doorway.
“Help! Help! Help me please!”, she wails for rescue. Her chocking voice goes mute with grace. Her silence is loud. She is a woman, the mother of your children; a mother to this dear nation.
Her reputation is tainted, her dignity battered. The scars on her body speak volumes. She unfortunately crushed into a boastful beast of a husband.
For her children, she’s trapped into the wreckage of a broken marriage. All she needs is a protector, not a tormentor. A lover, not a devourer. A tutor, not a commander. A humble breadwinner, a companion, a confidant and not a batterer.
Whatever the case, real men don’t ever raise a finger against a woman. We should say no to domestic violence.
#tales for good.