How A 3nut Killed My Mother Poem by Harsh Bhardwaj

I bought a gun
from a friend who was going to throw it in the river
which flows at the end of our village.

I always kept it down in between my waist and pants.
I bought it
because I was afraid of my father.
I thought that someday
he will come to me,
with his dull red eyes
with adrenaline in his veins,
to kill me.
And then
he will kill my mother too.

One day,
when he slept
drunk again
and at the evening
was a little more ogre
and pelted my mother with his empty wine bottle,
I gave my mother
my three nut gun
to end all this.
She kept slapping me hard
throughout the evening
but took the gun!

The next morning
an unusual din woke me up.
At the dining table
my mother was sleeping
crouched between her hands
grabbing the gun;
blood all around!