Through His Eyes

They said I was special

“The first” they said

Even literature would be happy with the names with which they called me

Well, I wasn’t born then.

“Selfish”, “Scoundrel”, “Rogue”…

Few of the more sensitive words I get to hear howled around me every now.

Before I go any further, let me introduce myself…

I am just a child who still can’t speak - caught between parents separated

Imprisoned in my mother’s “care” (or so she wishes to think)

As a child stand I scared; crying my pain through speechless walls I stare.

Some see the tears in my eyes

The farthest they can possibly see.

What must be running behind?!

Would anyone dare to see?

“Selfish” he calls her, “Not-even-a-man” she calls him

Each ridicule the other with audience to gape at every rap

Not understanding the words yet understanding the running emotion

Unattended I ran-in between them-with nowhere left to run

The only spoof of their marriage remains in the engraved names of each other in their torso

Lest they forget the other’s

Each tore the other apart with words meant to rip one’s heart

Spitting choice words picked from the gutter at each other’s face

Along they went with their fight unbothered even if it was over my hovering grave

Battles they fought and perhaps wars they win

With my soul to bear the scars within

Scared, surprised and stunned I lay not knowing who will collect my shattering pieces

Off they drifted into the big secure spaces of their egos

Dragging me into shallow worlds I didn’t want to go.

Everything they go through seems real to them 

Everything about them except me.

I will know the “truth” somebody said someday

And understand who was right and who was wrong…

Would I care to think that way?

A ‘knave’, a ‘rogue’, a ‘rascal’ one day I shall be and blame it on everyone to deem my right to be

You can take all the time you want then and decide

The rights and the wrongs and anything in between

And settle scores for yourself

A lifeless life I have now

With pretentious words and spontaneous lies

Secure places with insecure lives

Everyone trying to replace the other.

Every time I look out through the window

And get to see a child holding on to the hand of his father

All I want is that and nothing more;

Yet searching for that hand that is never there

Grasping in vain into thin air 

A fatherless child am I… for no fault of mine
for everyone to mock and stare

“Thank You” Mom; “Thank You” Dad for gifting this life

I’d rather not have;  

Where your lives mattered more than me

Someday I look forward to repay thee…