I've failed you several times. But there was one moment I failed you beyond measure. It was the day we met. The moment I took your hand and you looked at me, with the glory of hate in your eyes. I should have sent you home to your family. But I didn't. There was honesty in your hatred.Fearlessness in your pain.In your honesty, I saw a reflection of myself.Or rather, of the man I longed to be. So I failed you. I didn't stay away.Then later, I thought if I had answers, it would be enough. I would no longer care. You would not matter. So I continued failing you. Continued wanting more. And now I can't find the words to say what must be said. To convey to you the least of what I owe. When I think of you, I can't find the air to breathe. And now, though you are gone, there is no pain or fear. All I am left with is gratitude. When I was a boy, my mother would tell me that one of the best things in life is the knowledge that your story isn't over yet. Our story may have come to a close, but your story is still yet to be told. Make it a story worthy of you. I failed you in one last thing. Here is my chance to rectify it. It was never because I didn't feel it. It was because I swore I would never say it, and a man is nothing if he can't keep his promises. So I write it in the sky- I love you, a thousand times over. And I will never apologize for it.
This isn't rich by words but emotions! So, try to feel. Hopefully, you can smell my dried tears ; stuffed inside them! ________________
Scream!! Scream!! Faded seemed, though I could hear, despite choked with drowsiness. Some gasping agony from the soul of women. Sometimes it was picturised upon 20, sometimes 28 or 35 and many more. Faces, dried and afraid faces, forlorn virginity, were they. Nowadays whatever seem to glorify the front page of the newspaper are the lines, "victim of rape", "she has been raped", "a rape incident took place". Through those black words on white, thousands of screams could be heard, thousands of blood stains could be seen. Those screams make the head numb.
But even Atrocity was ashamed when a tiny creature, a child, a reflector of God, wailed that breathtaking scream, when some demons snatched the childhood from her, when she died for some momentary amusement!
Days will go on. What will happen? Either demons will be sent behind the bars or they will be sentenced to death! The conscience would lament and die. But one question, one question! This one question will be earthed with their ashes!
"WHY DID THEY DO IT?"
Because Satan went heavy on them? Was she seductive? Was her curves alluring? Was her smile full of guile? Were her sex organs too candid? People would say, NO! SHE IS A KID! THEN WHY DID THEY DO IT ?
The heart of maternity used to beat inside her. The breath of paternity used to rhyme in her smile. Is animality too blind to see that? Now they are done with their monetary amusement. She has become the slave of their lechery. She is gone! She died out of immense anguish and cumbersome. May be her vagina has been pushed into the door of destruction. The dried blobs of blood beside her lips, her faded screams, the dried salty water in the corner of her eyes, all fell for aye slumber with her, inside her grave.
Demons! Yes, I am calling out your names! Will you be the stick of euphoria to those dusky parents? Will your hands be raised to remove the magma like tears? Will you be awake at darkest witching hour to oppose the shivering heads and hands of the parents? Will you be there to bear those breathtaking screams? TELL ME!
They have lost their child,their notion of love, the light of their hope and bloodline. They have lost their posterity.
You forced her to face, to be the victim of such heinous act, of what, she didn't even know the meaning! You have debased the heads of thousands of men. You have caused an extra ache to their soul. Those scars won't appear on skin, but they are gonna break the men. Their staid voice and valiant deeds will be questioned and accused to be bogus!
Dear Almighty, where are our plight, pledges, prays and candle marches going? Upon vain? I wanna quarry, what are those people made of? Flesh and blood or fire of concupiscence? God, did you forget to put a heart in their chest? Or the heart stopped beating? God, if Satan is abandoned from Eden, why do you send fairies where demons reside? Don't be like stone, dear Almighty. Do some mercy! Enliven the soul of "Humanity", that seem to be forlorn long ago. Make the inhumanity stand on the threshold of doomsday!
Dear Almighty, do some mercy on this sphere! Eden is far cry ; we need you here!
Sometimes, I feel helpless, for me, I can only bleed words, I can only scream on paper! Pleasing thousands of pleasant hearts isn't enough! I want to pour some good in some demonic one. I pray for these words to be poured power. As for the realistic scream, they seem faded in front of the red eyes of elders! My heart cries when I am ineligible to make them realise that, may be I am a teen but my words ain't shattered yet! With the benison of Almighty, I can try to stuff some good, yes, I do bet!
So, that is why I say; often... In silence, "Every moment matters."
I have revived this verse today. I'd written it straight-out, single spurt of intuition. A year ago. Inspiration. One of those many 'moments' I find myself in.
I'd been on a new path of inspiration & sensations, then.
Just letting out, from much of what I'd always left, in. Inside.
If I'd ever be able to express just one phrase of thought. That could be held in every moment. To 'jot' it down Just a moment; captured... compressed, contained. Released. It's the release. That matters. Not kept, boxed. You don't know yet, nor had I, how much I kept (keep)... Inside.
To be touched again by just someone. Someone else. ...I wish to be; to become, an inspiration. To me this is all I'd ever need. I'm just beginning to see.
A year ago. I'd not a clue of what this verse would be. It has become a landmark of verse in the paths I've gone. I'd now written out so much and many more. Since. Perhaps more to follow on from here. Exploring. Expressing. Thanks to anyone whom takes a moment. Of our lives. To just read, and be. With me. Every moment matters. In the end.
Whenever that may be.
~ Eric Mirakee & Always
P.S. - This is not a sad poem. To me. This is me. This is my dream(s). To inspire from within. To no longer just hold, within.