Confessions Poem by UMESH KUMAR SINGH

Brother, please hold me in your hands,
I feel great pain".
My young sister had yelled, long, long ago.
Lying in a hospital bed for more than a week;
I remember those painful hours,
When Shakespeare's words on time's speed-
'Time travels in diverse paces with diverse persons"-
Being taught in my classroom;
Were felt in my own sensory nerves,
And by my heart.
Yes, it was 1979, I precisely recall.
She had met with an accident,
And had been badly burnt,
Stood hospitalised,
For more than a week.
All over her body were balms applied.;
And dressings daily changed;
She could neither stand nor walk,
She was then barely four years old,
It was the day of Holi, I remember.
Clad in a Holi wear - Kurta and pyjama,
Snow-white and bright,
I was before her,
With a heart bleeding for her plight,
She loved me much.
She had cried when I went to her,
"Bhaiya please hold me in your hands I feel great pain, "
She had yelled.
Her words in my heart left a scar deep.
But lest my stainless white clothes get stained,
I conspired to dole out some hollow consolations,
And managed to maintain the dignity of my clothes;
As I had to visit a family;
Whose guest I was to play on the day of Holi;
To partake of the delicacies of Holi,
For they knew Holi dishes in our household not being cooked,
For the bolt fallen from the blue.
I had a responsibility great:
To visit the host's house with fineries immaculate.
Thirty years later,
I am moving with my young son on a city road,
He is unwilling to walk,
"I am not well and tired as well", he entreats.
Driven by my zest to make my progenies sturdy,
I brush aside his plea and have my way.
He had to walk a long distance I remember.
"Though I was not alright, "
A fact he confided afterwards.
My tainted conscience gnawingly,
Tortures my soul, robbing it of peace,
For I had made my ailing son,
Dance to my horrific tunes,
I had brushed aside his unwillingness,
For I could not brook any opposition,
To the sceptre's fiats.
The revelation- "I was not feeling well,
When papa made me finish the marathon"-
Has left a perpetual scar in my heart.
Both the events have conspired to make,
A lady Macbeth out of me.
To set things right,
I want to atone for my misdeeds,
And salve the wounds of my conscience.
By giving them a recompense befitting!
But alas! I cannot do anything now!
For both are no more!