Fine World (Poetry Session)

Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels

Hi, My name is Larry
And this is a simple poem,
about my life which turned uncanny,
as it steadily unwinds.

When I was little
I loved crayons
I drew mountains, rivers, trees
Once I got stung by bees
I fall to the ground
bullies had surround
Though, my wounds are gone
the scars stayed on
I was hurt a lot
but never blamed on
anybody else,
Not even my father
who use to beat me, with his belt
whenever I plucked flower
from his beloved garden
For him it was heaven
He took care of it
in the memories of my mother, who was shot dead
by his brother.
He was de-arranged and lost in drugs
with blood in his hands
he becomes a criminal
He was delusional
left the society
and lived with the animals.

Years Passed by
I turned fourteen
I fall in love with someone
Who looked like my queen,
With utmost gratitude
I treated to her
I was a fool in love
I got cheated by her
I got angry
I beat her.
Her brother came to me.
He wanted to repay.
Our fistfight turned bloody
When I picked a rock
and smashed his head.

It doesn’t take long,
police followed my trail.
My father disowned me
as I ran far away.

Now I don’t have a place to live
I don’t have a place to stay
I don’t have what people call
a home;
I am afraid these days.

Lost in a city that I don’t know,
surrounded by faces
these crowds these masses
Suffering from hunger, thirst, and cold
I saw a familiar face.
At first, I thought
I must be hallucinating
This can’t be real
After all the path he took
his life should fail.
But there he was
alive and well
I shouted his name,
I shouted uncle,
He didn’t respond
neither his name
nor to the relation.
Later that week, I found out
he is known by a different name
in, under, and around
I set to find him
instead got kidnapped
They covered a mask around me
as I was sitting what seems
to me like a cab.

After strolling
for hours it seems,
I was dragged from the vehicle
my cover was removed
they took me to the jungle
For hiking a couple of hours
I get to meet him.
He was the killer of my mother
and he did not regret it.
Told me she was not reliable
nor healthy or wise
she wanted to turn him
for a job that made fortune for
him, father, her, and mine.

I couldn’t care less
I just needed a place,
where I could work.
where I could stay.

Now I am twenty-two
guns are my darling
I am a paid killer
you give me cash
you give me a picture
and consider your job, done.

I don’t have greed
I don’t know the power
I know to talk to bullets,
They obey me
As if I am their master
and enters the head of my prey

This job is risky
this is my full-time gig
I have been shot twice,
lost a pinky on my left
yet I always come back
Alive, though I can’t say if I am well.
Somedays the work is too easy
Some days are pure chaos
I did not choose my life
I certainly don’t fear
I don’t regret
I don’t repent
The only things I feel
is numbness in my brain.
This is for certain
for every bullet, I fired
a bullet is waiting for me
to take away this life
that I call mine

Then this world would be better,
Then this world would be fine.

.

.

The End

Click Here To Read Other Fiction By Me On Medium
Check Out My Books Here
For Indian Buyers, Here Is the Link for Flipkart, Amazon, And Notion Press

A big thank you to those who have bought my books. And those who are thinking about buying; Take your time buddy, there’s no hurry.

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Fiction Writer and Author of three books till now.

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