A Bullet’s Life

[Visit: a YouTube Video of the Poet’s reading]

I was born yesterday
in a hustle-free factory,
a man was smoking carelessly
on top of the gunpowder
around the cases and me;
fitting me inside is never an easy task
yet it is never done manually anymore,
nor does anyone tend to save on me —
I am abundant like the sun,
yet I mostly shine at night.

I was loaded in a box,
I looked around in shock
I thought I was unique —
thousands of brothers and sisters
lining up to be loaded and wasted
for fear or joy, we’re viciously shot.

Legend has it, a bullet tells the truth,
a bullet that knows the righteous way to go,
a bullet controlling its primer;
the road was long and stories were longer,
none will ever see a son,
how could they ever claim a father?
Where do these stories come from?
Wait, the truck has stopped;
in the distance you hear a familiar sound —
our kin being wasted, again,
yet the sound alone was not enough
to tell whether it was to kill or just for fun.

I was in such a big company,
now in a magazine, it feels too tight —
loaded not with so many —
brothers in arms, are we not?
for we will probably spill the same blood;
alas, in vain, like these poor soldiers,
some of us are sent to die
some are sent to kill —
we’re all younger than those,
but sometimes, it feels they’re younger still —
lasting for a couple of seconds
shorter than memory
on the battlefield, but we stay
in the memory of those who mourn the ones we kill.
Who’s more memorable now,
a soldier or a bullet?
every soldier gets one
today or in fifty years,
in the head, in the heart or in memory —
oh! there are a lot;
every successful shot
that killed a friend
has become a legend.

Now for wrath, stand fast brothers —
enemies are whizzing everywhere;
prepare to die, to kill and conquer —
I had the best view in the house,
the first sneaky shot to come out —
my man was moving slowly
trying to get a vantage point
but wait, isn’t that a child
I can see from the barrel?
I held myself tight;
click, I stood still withstanding the urge to fly,
too late for my pal,
I gave him away —
he did receive us from the other side
so many there was no one left of us
for any special memory;
oh yes, those were also brothers —
like these fools we were all the same.

We stayed for a whole day
in the loaded magazine,
all intact, except for me —
I thought I was saving someone,
but I killed a friend;
take me back to a factory
before I harden like life,
I wish I’d been molded into something else,
but wait, here comes the very boy I tried to save
salvaging and desecrating bodies,
why did you shoot young man?
my friend is already dead
stop wasting my brothers —
I had to take revenge,
it was time;
I jammed and now I can simply unjam,
but wait for the perfect angle,
here I go, I am inside his little skull —
It’s dark in here,
am I dead?
the boy’s about to be,
well, let me look
for I may see
a trace of cocaine —
not too young to take it now that I have been in his head —
a memory flashes here and there,
his family on a wall lined up and killed
like lambs no one did understand
what their blood for, was spilled,
but that was a long time,
I doubt the boy still recollects;
Oh no! I saw what I came here in for, at last —
the reason behind my being and all,
I saw the purpose in his little mind —
like all these soldiers who died in vain,
and all my brothers who died in shame,
the boy’s mind was all thinking of one thing —
like all of us, the boy was only playing a game.

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