Servitude Poem by Prabir Gayen

Servitude
Seventeen years have passed,
Past 6205 days of pain and death,
Still death is mischief to play
hide and seek,
Years after years months after months,
Days after days nights after nights,
Life is doomed moment by moment,
Seventeen years of continuous hell,
Crucifixion as if for endless time.
Each part is rotten, each page is tattered,
The chain of adamantine fog of curse,
My life is a curse, an abominable Cuss,
Days are full of confusion nights are dreary,
Having nothing to do and nothing to think,
Thinking is blocked for thoughtless
right,
Breathing is from lower level,
Parity to baseborn tribe.
My life is a huge rhyme,
Each line is stinking with frigging
Tune,
Aimless life with aimless way,
Time is heavy like weeds of trough.

Seventeen years have gone
With useless way eating rubbish
With Unused Might,
Life is a bed of thorn with borrowed bed,
The howl of beasts that run through vein,
I am a beast with human flesh,
Corpse of misused body and mind
Of an indigent Soul,
Born to an Imbecile Couple,
Life is a dark dungeon having no door,
Groping in darkness to serve a royal blood,
A dynasty of respected Predecessor,
Seventeen years have passed with severe pain,
Having nothing to do with sleepless eyes,
Only to bow down again and again.
Life is a curse and it has no end,
Death being blessing is not winking,
It is on holiday for severe punishment.
Seventeen years have gone into nothingness,
Into useless path for useless Life,
My life is a useless muttering,
With one aim to preach.
The glory Of a great dynasty who had compassion
to feed me and let me live like
a beast with invisible chain
around my throat,
Seventeen years have passed with
doomed dignity eating food at Their Mercy.
I am to live till death knocks at the door,
Life is an abandoned corridor
having to air to pass,
I have to live and to preach the Glory
Of their Blood,
Generous glorious and mild to beggars,
I am to live at least Five years more
to let them survive with crown in heads.
With regards to their highborn milieu,
I am to play my part however delay
death may make,
I have to bear with the whims of it,
Without courage to jump into death,
I have to wait for its address,
Knowing nothing of its Nature.
Seventeen years have gone
With much deep pain,
Only death could stop it without
thought cruel,
Life is a dream that never touched me,
Before waxing it in soul,
Drooping drops come in front
to make me dead,
With limited breath,
as thin and Low.
Death is a blessing to end this
useless servitude.

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@prabir Gayen..28/03/2019...8: 47AM.