A Hunchback Boy From Manayur
There’s a miniature volcano
on his back
with mortifying eruption.
‘Beauty is
in mind’, his mom intones.
But nobody
recognizes. His classmates
‘honor’ him
with some funny sobriquets.
It resembles a cactus. He can’t
eschew its
thorns. He withdraws. Solitude
is a shelter.
It’s like a gas-producing
cassava; his
mind bloats with thoughts
of inferiority.
Whistles and whoops from
the playground
pain him no more. Recurrence
blunts sorrow’s talon.
He falls down through
a siesta.
Posthumous pity is a wreath.
First published in The Literary Hatchet
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