Keep him alive

Scorned by the parent unknown above,
Rudely he was thrown out to the world below.
Came riding the god of death,
With his first breath, he took his mother’s last.

A loving father he did have,
Sadly the father loved some other.
Thrown into the streets outside,
A symbol of ill luck, a symbol of death.

Have always thought of the fact,
As how life can become death.
As to how a tiny baby, new born,
Can be potent enough to kill.


Scorned by the parent he knew not,
He walked on into this harsh world.
Building the roads, he walked upon,
Making the beds, he slept in.

Not a soul seemed to care,
No one asked if he had a meal,
No loving hand to soothe the pain,
Remnant of a haunting nightmare.

He never did once lose hope
Of getting back at this world.
More than the desire for revenge,
Was that to be accepted as a man.

Someday the scars began to heal.
That day when he found a friend,
Who saw him for what he was,
Not for what he had been or shall be.

That hand seemed to ease the way,
And the pain that came along.
The words gave him courage,
To live a life that lacked value.

What the world could not give,
What the parent would not provide,
When the going seemed to drag him down,
From where did that smile come along?

In a life filled with scornful faces,
Why is there that one with a smile?
In a world that dubbed him worthless,
How do those words kindle the use in him?

In a world filled with hate,
Why did that heart give him love?
Dear friend, in a world he’d rather be dead in,
Why does that hand keep him alive?

3rd September 2003

~Aditya