Deathbound

Author’s Note – I recently found myself in a situation which involved a lot of rage and a wide assortment of swearing men. I happened to notice a kid amidst that havoc. The kid was mimicking his family – with the yelling, cursing and the aggression. Later a friend and I discussed this, and that left me thinking, so here goes.

 

What did I

Do wrong, father?

I was born,

Just like the neighbor’s kid,

I was innocent,

Just like him.

I was cute,

And cuddly too,

Just like him,

I was afraid of thunderstorms,

I liked rains,

Just like him,

I liked butterflies,

The trees,

And the evening air,

Just like him.

Yet,

When he was

Holding a fist,

I held a fist,

Not to play a game,

Like him,

But to throw a punch,

To hit,

To hurt,

To get hurt,

To inflict

 

 

What did I,

Do wrong, mother?

When he held

A pencil,

I held a knife,

I was taught,

Not to write,

Not to learn,

But to stab,

To hurt,

To inflict

 

Why is it,

That when he held,

A pen,

I held a gun,

I shot to kill,

Unlike him,

Who used his instrument,

To create,

To draw,

Draw a colorful life,

Why does mine,

Have a monochrome

Feel to it?

Tell me please,

Why does mine,

Only see red?

 

Why is it,

That when he had,

A dream,

He smiled,

And tried

To make it real,

A good dream,

A wholesome one,

Whereas mine,

Was scary,

And all too real,

It had people

Chasing me,

Hitting me,

Killing me,

Like an outcast,

Am I an outcast?

Please tell me,

Am I this because

I was made this,

Or did I become this

Because I was no good,

No, that can’t be.

 

Why is it,

That when he had

A girlfriend,

One that loved him so,

I had a whore,

In the place

I frequented,

Why is it

That I don’t get

A girl to love me

Is it because

I am rough?

Or am I not

Good looking?

Who do I blame?

You, father?

You, mother?

Them, the society?

Or him,

For having born well?

For having done well?

Or myself,

For not having chosen well?

Who do I blame?

 

I know,

I see an end,

To my jealousy,

I will do,

What I know best,

I will just kill him,

Yes,

That solves this,

Doesn’t it?

I will just end it.

 

There! It’s done.

I shot him,

When he was sleeping,

He is dead now,

Everyone he knew,

Cried for him,

Yes, tears,

The universal sign,

Of grief,

I am not sad,

Then why am I crying,

Father?

Mother?

Is it grief?

But I am not sad,

I said that.

It must be regret,

It must be remorse,

But why?

I chose this, no?

You chose this for me,

Father?

You let me be this,

Mother?

I became this,

This is me now,

A vagabond in this world,

Full of hate,

Rage,

Aggression,

A coward

Inside a façade,

Of false bravado,

A coward,

Blind to opportunities,

Deaf to good advice,

Dumb to a fault.

 

This is me now,

A vagabond in this world,

Lonely,

Self loathing,

Hated,

Death bound.

 

-Narayanswamy