Karma

Sweet soul of chastise, Cometh like a thief in the night, Seeking to vindicate The tainted name of the innocent. The dagger of reprisal, Pouncing fiercer than the rationale To strike the hands that aggressed The heart that was immaculate. It charges like a lightning bolt, And it does not discriminate, Like the mighty weapon of Zeus Or Poseidon’s trident. The blameless child is crying, But the mother can’t do a thing, For nothing could really fight The plague of the night. Even in the depth of dream, It punctures those who are to blame; Those who conspired to initiate The root of the skirmish. Those who took the life of the lamb Must pay the price with lively blood; Not even the meek and mild May go unscathed. Yes, there are many ways That dues could be paid; It does not care who is to hit; It only seeks to vindicate. The night has passed, what a relief, But the little child suddenly aches; The morning dew brought the arrears, For it is time to pay the debt. The aching father cries in pain, But there’s no way he could contain, The wrath that comes like a fountain, And it does not even rain. Suddenly the guilty father thought Of the troubles that he has brought To the harmless and the youth, And all the lives that he destroyed. The father walks on bended knees, Placing his hands above his chest, Blowing whispers of apologies, Hoping someone hears his repents. But the surging wind is very deaf, And his furious heart refused to hear The echoes of the voice that calls, For the barrel has overflowed. The call of the father was unheard, His innocent child was not spared; For not even his life tenfold Was enough to pay his dues. The father came to his senses And realized his big mistake That it is wrong to beat the bird When it is harmless in its cage. To those who beat without a cause And those who wound on shallow ground, Better think twice before you pounce, You may not bear the consequence. For if not him who was aggrieved Who takes the lives of those who raid, It is He who holds our breath That wields the blades of rage. The rage will be so blind to see Whoever stands before its way, Whether the father or the child, It does not care to pay a stare. So do not ever desecrate The purity of innocence, For you don’t know what rage will come To those who abuse freedom. Better it is yet to spread The love than animosities; A tree planted can yield a fruit Without a need to pay the dues. And so for those who acknowledge The message that was just expressed, I hope it is not yet that late To offer acts of penitence.