(2.00 / 1 vote) “
it was 19 th of July 2020, I was in London,
visiting my distraught daughter Bonnie.
She was seemingly at the end of her tether
and talking about leaving us for ever.
I tried to calm her down but she was distant.
Then Adam rang which caught her eye.
That it was Adam calling I could not deny.
Who could have guessed what that belied ?
This caused a chasm and drove Bonnie
further away from me,
and when I left Bonnie
she did not hug me.
Because Bonnie had been estranged
from her husband Adam
she felt I had betrayed her
by keeping contact with him in tandem.
We did seek advice from the emergency
They downgraded the severity
I was supposed to be staying with Bonnie
But falsely reassured I returned home unwittingly
Same nagging battles in my mind.
Had I stayed would Bonnie be alive today?
Who will give me the answers to banish my guilt away?
It was the morning the next day,
it was 20 th of July 2020, in bay,
a day forever etched in my memory.
My daughter was found dead
with the double whammy
of overdosing and hanging.
Since that day in my mind
it’s a constant nagging unwind.
What if I had stayed the night?
What if I had not called Adam earlier
What if he had not returned my call ?
Would she be still living
if this had not occurred at all ?
It’s a constant, nagging battle in my mind hold,
like the scenario of sliding doors unfold.
Wish I could by magic wind the time back in an instant,
and vanish all that happenstance!
It was 19th of July 2020,
a date forever etched in my memory,
when I bid bye to my daughter Bonnie
she did not even hug me.
It’s a constant nagging battle in my mind,
conflicts and ruminations abound
so many ‘what if’s’ and regrets
I find no answers to these diktats.
Who knew that was the last time in my life
I would ever see my daughter alive
when I said bye to my Bonnie
she did not even want to hug me.
I am of full wrath of the Lord
why me the agony, why to me this accord?
About this poem
Lamenting things said or done or not done ‘If only..’ , change of course, different outcomes to what we do or don’t
Discuss this Badal Pal poem with the community:
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)