The original poem in Malayalam is by Sugatha Kumari

Hemophilia
Even the tiniest wound
starts to bleed,
and blood flows relentlessly
unceasing, unclotting
draining away one’s life.
There exists such an illness
though it’s name I know not.
Nor its cure.
I only know that
even the smallest wound
should be avoided.
But how?
On these roads
strewn with thorns,
shards of glass and nails -
how will one afflicted
and barefooted
walk?
How’ll she walk these paths
full of deep potholes
dug with sharp tools -
and covered up
to trip the unsuspecting.
How can one walk
these poorly-lit roads
when those with
smiling daggers,
venomous teeth
and long nails
guard these paths?
How’ll I walk alone?
Can’t avoid walking;
can’t escape writhing
in the pain of these wounds.
Once it starts to bleed
there is no stopping
this dreadful illness -
a disease I understand,
for my heart is afflicted thus.
Even for the smallest wound,
a hundred
little and large
memories
slowly gush
and then rush out.
It’s a bleeding that won’t cease
won’t coagulate.
Old, timeworn memories
that I had buried
deep in the earth
suddenly spring to life
and gush out.
Even as my heart writhes
and pleads ‘No no,’
and tries to hold them back,
they cannot be stopped.
Is there no cure for this illness-
no stopping this unceasing flow
of painful memories?
Is there no cure, I ask.
Someone answers,
‘There is one cure -
the warm ashes
from your cremation.’

Malayalam version