The Convict Part 4

Didactic old man Fiddling with fright As tears curled down From a bemoaned and fretted face To his foaming lip The tears thirst bitter taste Spiced with desired regret Of an action already finished Crime begets an accidental skirmish ~ His hands Those quivering hands Protective to a fault The palpitation; his heart The ‘eye of his soul’ Full of surprises and confusion His heart and head Were at war with intent One seem to agree less Which is it? ~ His old bat given as A gift to his nipper Now lays dirty as a witness In the gore colours of crime Glittering red instead of white As day time Further dim its light It would be called that such Was the gift, no, tool of death ~ A van with siren screeched to a still From a distance that only time covers Few men clad in black disembarks With live weapon of coercion Their face sternly professional The cacophony from the siren Mocks the victim - The dead one, the twiddling one And the old man – which ever it chooses A new home seems near ~ Cuffed with cheap silver bracelet And dragged out from the house To the crying van He took a wild look aback His blood has turned his heart to a scar The one that will forever illuminate Him, it will shine exclusively In this midst of his darkness Where love loves hate What a betrayal of doctrine! ~ They led him inside the van After few steps on heavy feet He was whisked off the city His heart too was heavy Heavy with thoughtless thought Enmeshed in what he dreaded And what he has always fought He put his old head out of the window And breathe his last fresh air While the wind stranded his gray hairs ~ Hours followed closely in minutes Like eternity Till time raptured At a very big iron gate Where no one ever forgets its date Of arrival – departure is the uncle of death It comes when one less expects Days, Months, and Years if lucky