A Tale Inspired By Ganesh Chand
The lust from my breath, blowing against her fragile neck,
The silence that's broken, from a pleasurable pain.
Both of us drowned, at the pinnacle of nirvana,
Both of us strangers, after a sinful game.
Months there after, she got on to her knees,
Pleading me for mercy, for the child I yet to see.
I shunned her, I shooed her, I pushed her away,
She fell to the floor, bleeding with pain.
And to moan for the death of an unborn one,
Seemed ridiculous to me, until one day it begun.
For from the edge of the corner, of my big blue room,
Appeared a little shadow, and a boy full of gloom.
I closed my eyes for a second, then I opened them to be sure,
Hallucinations maybe, from ninety nine glasses of beer.
He still stood there, with his posture so straight,
He stared right at me, as I felt a mighty weight.
I sent myself to sleep, I consoled my heavy heart,
I slept with dreams of comfort, but I woke with a start.
I lifted the curtains around me, to let in a little light,
But I still saw darkness, it was the boy and he was a blight.
A visit to the doctor, a visit to the witch doctor,
Both of which simply, ended in vain.
I sat, I strayed, I pleaded and I prayed
Nothing seemed to take, the miserable boy away.
I still indulged, in dirty desires,
I still fulfilled, my guilty pleasures.
I still strayed, on untouched meadows,
I learnt to live with my three shadows.
A penny I gave, to a famished man once,
The joy I felt was simply, abundance,
The boy that tagged me, never ever smiled,
But that was the day I saw a glow in his eyes.
Deeds a million, I started henceforth,
But it never summed up, to my sins' worth.
It never mattered to me, to equalize things,
But to see the boy happy, would make my heart swing.
I crept very slowly, between the days of my life,
With no family, with no kids, with no woman called wife.
This boy set my spirit, on a fire so wild,
I couldn't help but accept him, as my unborn child.
Alas, I laid, on my cold death bed,
My unborn child, with his lap under my head.
He spoke to me, for the very first time,
"Papa, you're a good man, but you can never wash away the grime"
"I was never your son, I was never alive,
I only reduced your burden, which you never would have survived.
The curse of an avenging Constance,
The mother of your conscience."
R.I.P.
