Treasure Island

Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

Responsible and Devastated


I am responsible for when it happens.
When the only God Alive dies in heaven.
The Heaven in whose womb I was conceived.
The Heaven in whose soul I breathed.
The Heaven whose hands brushed my tasseled hair.
The Heaven whose tongue taught me to walk straight.
The Heaven whose finger I held, to make my baby thoughts.
The Heaven whose eyes gave me the sight into my dark endless soul.
The Heaven in whose shriveled, lost eyes, wrinkled skin,
I see the reason of my being.
That Heaven I will kill, without my intent, or wanting.
It is a dark moment for me,
Darker than the Blackest of Black,
Mom How could you even think,
I could be the cause of your death!
But I am like you,
I never shirk from truth,
I will own up that is what I promise,
And cry like a baby on your tomb stone.
For the first time, after your death,
This arrogant proud pig will beg,
To Gods whom I don't care for a cent,
To be born again off you,
As your loving Hadu.

Submitted: Saturday, March 16, 2013
Edited: Saturday, March 16, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

My mother is debarred from commenting on this poem.

My inter ventricular septum was just about holding, it was sliced right through, there was one strand holding against all odds, today that too broke, not the relationship of eternal love both the ones, they stand, but my heart was diced finally. I am now reborn.

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