The Red Plastic Chair

This is the latest poem I've written after a brief hiatus.
Please read the poem and share your thoughts. I also want to translate it into Malayalam and hope to do so soon.
Thank you!

The Red Plastic Chair

When I was three, my world was sweet.

A place where love and care would meet.

But fate changed the delicate thread,

And bound me rather tightly with fear.

I slammed the doors, screamed loudly.

An innocent child, lost in the crowd.

"I want my mother!"—such a naked plea.

Only ropes and a red plastic chair I met.

I was drawn close, not to a hug,

Then I was rapidly hooked into that cruel place.

The ropes cut deep, the knots held tight,

On a red plastic chair under the dim light.

A rusty door with a visible hole.

We felt the heavy silence in the air.

A few children lived; their whispers were muted.

In the strong shadows, souls were broken.

The room was cramped, the walls drawing near,

Every breath I took was filled with fear.

The red plastic chair, now my prison throne,

The unknown fear became a trap for me.

Then the hour came. Her voice, her face,

My mother was here, in a hurried pace.

She saw me tied up; became heartbroken,

But never broke her vow of love.

She untied my knots with a trembling hand.

Now, I found my shelter in her loving arms.

She took me home. And kept me away from despair,

Away from that nasty red plastic chair.

Though the years have passed, the scars remain,

The memory is raw, with mild phantom pain.

No more cruel chairs or stinging ropes,

But my heart will sing that lament and mourn.

But as light shines in its shadow,

Motherly love became my forever medicine.

Through the test of time, the caregiver said:

She expertly shattered that red plastic chair.

- Antony Padikkala