Frozen Tears

Frozen Tears
By Ayesha Raees1

2


Drip. Drip. Drip.
Tears are faster than streams
Fall. Fall. Fall.
On my bruised knees
Cry. Cry. Cry.
For an illusion of freedom.3

When we wake up every morning by the sun, energetically, hitting our faces through our windows, we, even though we would be in a state worse than a comatose, we will still figure out that the history of our lives would, which are full of sadness and sorrow, would repeat that day too.4

And as we change like we always do everyday into the same set of clothing that make us look invisible to the world and make us, probably, look the most disgusting girls in the whole existing world, we, somehow, know that today would be just as bad as a low budget movie.5

And then we will exit through the front door, with the same glassy look in our eyes and forced smiles which would indicate to everyone, if only they had looked more closely, that we are not us but somebody who is made up of unrealistic, forced and infirmed characteristics. But they didn’t look because they don’t care. All they need is a fake smile and either a polite goodbye gesture or a small wave before we are on our way.6

Towards where?7

Of course to the same boring training ground where we have to sit in the corner and watch our senseis as they train the powerful and more capable boys in the team. Sometimes we complain, thinking that if we showed our true nature maybe they would notice, but then we are only hushed away by either a gentle answer or just an ignorant attitude. And then we sit, under the cold shade of the trees, and stare at them sparring, our soldiers strangely stiff and with the same glassy eyes and fake smiles.8

And then after the day of wasting and doing absolutely nothing we go back to our respective homes. The people think we have trained too much or trained too less; the praises or the scolding shows us the results. But in the end, we end up in our rooms, stuffing a pillow in our faces and crying late into the night until we doze off into another world of nightmares and if sometimes we are lucky, pleasant dreams. But still at that 9

moment, we are still and restless, our fists clenched, our shoulders stiff, our faces closed.10

That’s what we are. The losers, called the Kunoichis of the Hidden Leaf Village. That’s what we are, a group of girls who always feel helpless, staring through bars at the backs of the rescuers when we our trapped in missions. That’s what we are, useless and horrible. That’s what we do, cry.11

We have shed thousands of tears every day. They say, we need to work hard… but at what? What are our purposes? The boys go on about what they want to do and who they want to protect… then are we just shadows that are simply useless?12

And then we will wake up the next morning by the sun, energetically, hitting our faces through our windows, we, even though we would be in a state worse than a comatose, we will still figure out that the history of our lives would, which are full of sadness and sorrow, would repeat that day too.13

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