master broke my rib

It was a training session,

one in a rare occasion.

She held me by her hand-

arms interlocked; into the arena, 'walked without fears abound.

But I felt my air escape,

As on my four I crawled like an ape.

The pain was unforgiving,

I was helpless; deep down, I was dying.

Master broke my rib,

With a jolly face, she watched me whisked in the fragile crib.

I might be crippled, maybe to death,

if shortly I'll not regain my breath.

Should I succumb to a lung injury,

allow me rest in cursory.

Permit not master's dance on my grave,

to mock my spirit that wasn't so brave.

But tears! Master saw my tears,

dying, I had manifested innate fears in tears.

These tears spoke of my rib's pain-

when my lung was ripped in disdain.

Was I wrong to cry,

to let out pain that left me dry?

The pain; the fear of death-

now, think of my heaven in depth;

think of my Chinese or Indian heaven,

where broken ribs and torn lungs find it a haven;

only to return in solemn silence-

that silence that denies master a moment of penance.

Yes, silent and peacefully unmoving,

suffocated, in the glass cage I see the master mourning.

Tears! These tears that I once shed water her chicks,

but as they leave, on the glass cage a golden cross she picks.

This master, crying her fine lungs out;

for a soul that rests in peace, a rib and lung without.

Bunguswa Writes.