He stands in the middle of a wrangle,
by Peter Gumbo
That had made his life to tangle,
It is like being in a jungle,
Only that what he can hear is a bickering silence,
From the violence deep within him.
All the lies,
Have led to all his cries,
And now he watches in awe,
As his anger fries,
To certain highs,
Beyond the measurable skies,
Oh! Is it worth his tears?
He feels like a phantom,
Who cannot fathom the mysteries of the dark,
And has to hark everything,
Including his own hand
That has been his faithful companion all along.
The betrayal has weaved him into a cocoon of misery,
Misery is like a mystery to him,
Even though he is used to it,
Now it even makes him refuse to eat.
It is like his life is balancing on a wire,
Or like being burnt by fire,
Because it is painful to bare,
All he is aware of is that he was the sire,
Beyond that to him he is just another liar,
Who left him to face the dire consequences of his actions.
For him does he have to cry?
Why did his mother have to lie?
For some reason he feels like he has to say bye,
To a part of his life he has known for so long,
And embrace a lie he barely knew existed.
But why isn’t he excited?
The mistake of two people in unison,
Has dressed him in a uniform,
A uniform of bewilderment,
For he barely understood,
Why he had to pay for the mistakes of that decadent stood