Beg for Love

By Cherbo Geeplay “Don’t die,” his mother cried by his hospital bed, weeping. “I will be fine,” he managed to mutter under thick breath, the stars visible as he stared at the ceilings. Rage and hatred above us, as winter comes and lays her cold hands upon the shoulders of the kid shot last night by the cops, his corpse hot in the mom's palms----tears pouring down her soft cheeks. Possibly we are hurtling towards the quake, moving the particles beneath our feet, the deep void threatening to open up and swallow the earth and the brick walls and skyscrapers. The thing is, if it obliterates us, how do we beg for love, and pray to be spared when there is hate so much on the isles of the rug. Stains visible everywhere. On the soles of our heels. We need no ticking time bombs ignited by our own palms and fingers. A dog sank its sharp canine teeth into the soft folds of a man because it was ordered to do so, obedient to its master who loves the animal more than he cares about another living human being who worked in the cotton fields that built a nation. We can walk together in humanity or perish, killing each other off as the volcanoes rise from the pits of the earth and swallow us all before dark. She went home empty handed. “I will be fine,” were his last words, but now she has no heart. He is as cold as a crumbled leaf in winter. Copyright ©? In Parentheses Literary, 2021