Help me. I looked at her and waved goodbye.
I love you, child. I whispered to myself and waved again.
I could keep waving, but I had to go now.
I had to leave. I felt like a beaten dog. A dog on the street.
Poor of my all richness.
Sad in all my smiles. Help me before I’m gone.
I was a man they looked up to.
I was once dignified and called -The blue-eyed boy.
Now I am old and still young, give me a chance to prove that.
The pigeons on my white cemented terrace are dying out of no love.
I walked under the sun with shoes that don’t do well with my withered feet.
I wear an old shirt you refused to put on- discarded, yet you hate seeing me wear it.
I don’t understand, why?
I am sorry, I told you several times. And double the times you refused to forgive me.
The pigeons on my cemented terrace are dying of hate.
Free them – Free them!
I looked at a corner for food, I never ate before.
I picked up my little share of grab.
I was broken like there was a tiny hole in my body. All that it did was drain me out.
Out and out. Like it evaporated.
My legs were more worn out than those old shoes. So don’t you ask about my spirit, don’t ask about my soul.
I did enough for myself for too long but there were drums in my head. Rhythmic and loud.
I then wanted it to rain.
Let these folk drums engage my pain in a channel of distraction.
I waved a good bye.
“I love you, child. I am sorry.”
This beatas dog needs to sleep. The temptation of slumber is eternally sweet.
Sweet to my fractured life. A life beyond repair, beyond mending.
When you come, don’t – don’t dress up in black and white. Wear the colors of love and glory.
Take the coffins with pride and once again call me the blue-eyed boy! For you-you are the most beautiful pigeon on my white cemented terrace.
Fly away, Fly free, my child.