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I killed my friend,
I never wanted,
Do not see me cruel,
I did it for love.
We both ran naked
Under this influential shower.
No one uncoupled his lips
Against this faint madness,
We were indebted,
Either had to earn the prize.


It was shiny,
Elegant!
Burnt cold,
Polished gold.
Oh no!
I couldn't bear it,
Bear to see his vein
Uncuff so much blood,
Was I so cruel,
I slashed him!
Right beneath the ear,
The chin suffered the lot.


He said it to my face:
Once we scoured the Queen's land,
Together;
Sang in praises of Great Britain,
Merriy!
As the innocent horses start;
Tugging behind them
Our chariot.
But now the horses are dead,
The chariot is birthed against us,
We are dead to brotherhood!


The volcano erupted,
In me, I felt it fuelling out.
I was feeting off,
When he dogged from behind,
With sombre intents.


I couldn't!
But I left my gruesome dagger,
Screening through his burdened life-bag.
Yes I did it!
He lay still before me,
In silence.
I wept over my destiny uncharted;
I could only bare
To see twilight willow
But onto my grave,
With epitaphs
Written in Mephistopheles's tongue.


I did, when I had to,
What a shame!
Fled my own land! ! !
A constipated crib conceived in my cranial court,
Was I rather too young,
So that I became a nomad soon.


I rode in grievous company of the sun,
I voyaged in the nailing complement of the storm-I
think we must have prickled its patience,
Its revenge was full of life,
We were dealt by our own destinies.
Death ravished!
The carrion-eating bird approved.
This unfaithful revenge
Did but fed my mindset a tongue of advise:
Do not err the storm! ! !


I was conceived on the river-bank,
'Grace' became a refrain in my head,
I felt it was more to be cherished;
Not even my enchanting physiognomy altered.
What could this be called
If not a reborn
Into a soil of freedom and cruelty?
Orphaned by twigs and branches,
Bats and skylarks.
Was it not a diet balanced enough
To sow a seed of ambivalence
In my nomadic thoughts! ?


Did I ever tell of the obnoxity
Of these creatures particularly?
They move their fingers like I do,
Stride like I do,
Chest broad,
Posture leveled to the horizone,
Skin worn black;
And they chant in languages I never understood.
I watched them discharge another's blood,
In brutality of what seems their tradition.
I think this island it was
Death feasted all day.


Should it be said that it was pre-destined?
I got hypnotized by a friendly one
Of a different tribe,
I presume.
Skin black?
Yes!
But he was lonely,
I proposed to know more of his poor fate.
He even calls me Master,
He seemed anonymous -
I think they were never christianed,
I named him 'Friday'.


Friday was a walking dead;
Dead to his own people,
Died the day doom cast a spell on him.
Death could have had its sediments in his life-
Friday never sieved to the crust
His last lee of ecstasy.
A fearless ant
Hoping to withstand the elephant's stampede.


Tell me; desert of years ago,
That blacks could make one's lifetime
A dream on water beds,
And I would sing to my love;
Let her womb cough out on black ink.
And who fall prey to ignorance,
That my friends were born
To feed our fire, woods,
Destined to be tugged in chains,
Like the survivor dog?
He journeyed to the river-bank too,
From a path unread to me,
He was a dog afterall.
My pains were read to his poor understanding,
Before came Friday.


Oh how I survived on that unlawful island!
I once aimed at those innocent birds
With my old-time riffle,
Friday amused my gaze;
My grave-night experience scored it,
That the fully-winged bird descended
At the furious hit of a dead stick
Thrown by my friend.
Tell me!
Is he not worth soldiers praised in the British
military?
Then why leave them in chains and cages! ?


All ended!
All burden seized,
When we both seek chairs from the frogs,
We nursed into the cage of dogs not bone-fed.
All ended!
When for the homeless sake of freedom,
Friday had to unchain my soul
From these hopeless wander,
Or I honour his.


But why is such ugly fate stringed to my journey
Through this turmoil?
No way could I once more vaporize my friend
For any prize,
Not even for a freedom worthless!
I begged him take the prize,
But time rode my own countrymen-waist armed
With improved guns,
Faster than Friday could have lived.
Today,
I owe my gratitude
To that very man
Who killed my friend-Friday!
The End.

Note:
This poem is based on the legend;
'Life And Adventures Of Robinson Crusoe'.
Penned by
Daniel Defoe.
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