Bullet for a rover..

On a bright cloudy day,

The dark sunshine takes over.

Dark light falls upon a shiny stain,

Bringing to light the existence of a rover.

A hunch on the back, a huge pile of notes,

The only thing left, worth taking home.

A bullet on the chest, the 'shiny' spot,

Tears of sweat heals dry open scars.

Blisters get formed by frictional distraught,

And his chest bleeds something luminous dark.

Dark light continues to fall upon the shiny stain,

Bringing to light, an existing rover in pain.

'I don't want this bullet, I don't want a shiny stain,

Am leaving behind my notes, for now i want to walk straight.

Care I not- if you care or not, Young man,

I'm a rover, I fell, I cried, it hurt, yet I still stand.

I leave..

When the world seems to fall apart,

And you seem to be living on the side of dark.

When the faith mustered melts as ice,

And all things wrong start seeming nice.

Is when I think of my final day

When I'd be freed from my pain and dismay.

I see myself in a wooden box,

Some place I'd like to be, I thought.

People are around, no sign of tears,

No tissues, no memories, no fears.

Wearing big smiles and in the latest couture,

Men and women come to see me go.

Safely tucked inside the walls of a coffin,

Overwhelmed by the comforts of the expensive satin.

A tiny black box, well carved, looking good,

Silver plating on the edges perhaps,

If I could afford a fortune as much, I would.

In style I'd be sent to a place unknown,

Who'd care where I'd go as long as I'm gone.

Buried or burnt which would be the task?

Cover me up with logs of wood,

To make sure even the last glimpse of me wouldn't be seen,

Even if it would.

Dug so deep I'd be, even my cries would stifle,

Lit on fire to see the last bright side of me.

A tear shed perhaps, due to the toxic smoke,

No one would have anything to say, not a single bloke.

'Who cares? She's gone, get on with life, move on,

Every year, same day, if I remember perhaps,

I'll think of her, else who cares, she's past.'

I'll be gone and in 10 years from that day,

I'll remain to be just a photo that one might put on their profile today.

Lessons

She was not the kind whose face would be lost in crowd. Striking, very striking. The colours she wore, the small twinkle in her eye, the dark blush on her cheeks, the scarlet red lipstick. Maybe thats why there was a kind of remorse on her face because she was so hard to miss. When I looked at her I could see that the make-up was to cover the blemishes she felt inside because on the surface she had nothing to mask. She would have probably been the only beautiful girl at her age who hoped she wasn't. In her line of work, it was more of a bane. She'd rather have died of starvation had it not been for that little girl who held on to the end of her sari with her dear life. Her sister's daughter who seemed to have got her features from her aunt, was her only motive.

Why here? Why this? I asked her. I had just been a mere acquaintance to her but the story that followed the question only highlighted her desperation for a steady shoulder to cry upon. Her story was sad and just as pathetic as anyone else from her clan but what affected most was her concluding statement, 'I'm cursed'. I stood still, not knowing how to react, hoping for the heavens to open up and give me some clue as to what I should do or say to comfort her. After no divine intervention, I decided to do the best I could, leave. So I pat her on her shoulder and got up to leave. Despite my unsatisfactory promptness in being able to comfort her, she hurriedly came and hugged me before could fade from her sight. I felt the tears of pain drench my shoulder, but thats all that I could do, get drenched in her pain. As I held her I realised that the soft skin that had been abused time and again only hoped for a concerned touch in the place of the licentious ones. Right then, a tiny hand held her by her waist, she wiped the tears off her face, replaced it with a lustrous smile and turned toward her niece. Took her in her arms, kissed her on the cheek, smiled at me as she walked away.

I took a taxi back home that night My enraged mom welcomed me by opening the door yelling at me while pointing toward the clock. Thats when it all fell into place, its all a sacrifice. A willingly offered sacrifice. A sacrifice that passes down through generations, one of love. A relinquishment of one's own life in the quest of a better one for the ones who belong to you. Letting go of all that things that one 'could have been' so that the other 'can be' anything they want to be. Thats when I really understood my mom.