I wonder what God had been thinking
When he made me and my fate
Perhaps, of a past disaster
Or his stationery bills' due date.
May be his red pen wasn't working well
And so he used the black ink
To fill my heart and outline the soul
And complete my structure in a wink.
Hence, I love darkness and terror
Much more than hope and peace
I often rejoice being a sadist
And hurt others with maximum ease.
But, then why do I feel ashamed
To look at the mirror before me
Perhaps, I am too much an evil
And a beast, even for myself to see.
I wish that black ink wasn't permanent
Or, God could hang me on the re-paint chart
And this time even if the paint was over
I'd come back with just an empty heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem