The Boy Who Killed His Own Mother
“Do you know who he is?”
My brother whispered in my ear,
Pointing to a boy on the screen
Whose eyes showed no fear
He looked plump, he looked pale,
Forehead trickling with uncertainty,
His face told a familiar tale,
And stirred something in my tummy
How could a boy stumble into darkness,
Where oil pastels fill every void,
Where my dolls could prance, and I rule a kingdom,
Where even, down a hole, Alice could find joy
Did a moody-eyed man sweep in,
Swinging his watch before his eyes,
So all he sees is a whirlpool of hate,
And the urge to pick up a knife?
Or did the wicked witch of the East cast a spell
So his devils could wear a disguise
Play with his brain until he sees pain
In keeping his fists by his sides
Mum says games can have gore
So maybe the boy’s heart was tainted
He wanted to try beyond his console
Until regrets could never be deleted
Maybe nothing really happened
The boy simply wanted more
Ice creams for breakfast
No nagging to ignore
Then what happens next?
Who would tuck him into bed?
Sing him a lullaby
And hug the nightmares dead
How would he smile in the morning,
Eggs and pancakes on the plate
Cross the streets and find the lost
Get to school not too late
And how would he close his eyes,
Take deep breaths and sigh,
Without having someone as close
With whom he’d get by
Still I wonder why he did it,
Why he would even choose,
To hear a loved one screaming
From whom he got no bruise
I look to my mum, in my TP binoculars,
Ironing my dad’s shirts,
She’s heard the news but her hands don’t shake,
This could never happen to her
My brother returns to his homework,
And I to my clutter,
I don’t stop thinking about my class friend,
The boy who killed his own mother
Copyright © Fareeha Fareej Mohamed | Year Posted 2023
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