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Remorse

2 votes, average: 4.00 out of 52 votes, average: 4.00 out of 52 votes, average: 4.00 out of 52 votes, average: 4.00 out of 52 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5
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English Poetry

This unfamiliar boy, my namesake, cursed and killed,
died between the 3rd and 4th bars of the prison grill,
in the 4th week of March or the 1st one of April.
What year, can’t remember; time’s stood still.

They talk of a man who fell to the bottom of the well,
And found gods, fairies and elements of fantasy fiction.
They say that this man, between the anti-psychotics
and anti-depressants, waxed and waned hallucinations.

He died a few years ago, the 11th year of 14 years.
A memory collects itself to stand up by itself,
falls, fails, dissolves into a dreadful blur of fear,
What is the balm of guilt, if not a jail and an honest tear?

One Comment

  1. Gion Gion says:

    Saurabh,
    crime and punishment? “care” institutions?

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