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The Convict

26 Dec

The Convict (Choka)

Life behind these bars
My recidivistic chained lounge;
I bonded with loneliness
At will – my frial wrist
Scarred by the bangle of guilt –
Chaste from birth but now guilty

“Death by the rope” – is
My price for dis-innocence
I embraced it well like wraith
Of though fear might flee
Justice will kill me tonight
And I’ll whiff peace through my death

Bang!!! Off goes the bong
The call for my head I think;
Broody pangs aches me aloud
As the crowd barracks,
Sully smile stained their faces…
Spits, sticks, sands and stones were thrown

Inside the foyer –
My doers came with blindfolds –
Glow of darkness beholds me,
Farewell my best friends;
Crickets, flies and mosquitoes
I’d hear chirps and buzz no more

I’d be dead real soon
But no one knows my reason
For crime – no one ever cares!
Now, freedom will walk
To criminal’s tomb for peace
Just for my son’s sake

Defending my blood
was all I did – just a blow
On the chest and death took him…
For this single sake
I’ll die so that I can live
The gallow awaits my scrag

The Convict (Part II) [Quatrain]

The prepared necklace of doom, damnation and death
Hung around me; ready to swing me quivering to a painful sleep –
With a priest beside me, my sins were as it were from birth;
Few transgressions I admitted but just one I’ve decided to keep

The priest’s holy water made my soul to steep – but was mild
As he moves aside and signaled for my condemnation
My heart ponders to my dream of playing with my grandchild
Telling tales of my ancestor’s taboos, trials and tribulations…

Alas i was unmasked and my assassins took off my trinket of crime
And was garbed in the reality of that which i once dreaded – fear.
It was a sign that the light had lost its sparkling flare this time
I wondered, as the stench scent of death oozes near

A chair was there under my feet, and beneath, a hole below
Me, I fixed my sullen gaze on my happy killer as he positioned
Himself; his face, the last I’d see as today ends my tomorrow
Its a pity his crime was the one i failed to mention

The Convict (Part II) [Free verse]

Many months ago, a man from Middleton moved to,
A province of vices and soured delinquencies
Where dreams remain dreams
And reality seems unnatural
Like angels and demons in a guileful romance

Few months ago, a young enforcer was stationed
At the city of madness where reason has no reason
To be a reason, the city stood on a wild-wind bedlam!
Moans, groans and squeals were bedtime songs
That cradles everyone to sleep

The man from Middleton, my dad, a conformist preacher
A norm embedding parson passing creeds
From his forefathers to me, the enforcer, his seed –
He is the pioneer of my creation
An astute fellow to the bone
I live his air and breath his life
Just like him, I’m never pliant
Wrong is wrong and right is right
‘No matter whose ox is gored’
That I’ve learnt, I’ve mastered and revered
*********************

One daring day, amid vast numbers of outlaws
A dare-devil hooped into the enforcer’s bay
His face was masked with effronteries of crime
And calmly, he strolled to a safe like he owns it –
An enforcer skirmishes him halfway to the safe-room
But was overpowered and subdued with a deadly choke
And within the barriers of life and death
The man from Middleton who seeks the well being
Of his son; the son staring and clinging to deaths’ strings
He man took a baseball bat and hit his head
And when the outlaw charged,
He hit him with a blow on the chest
And the outlaws’ soul flee the earth
But he did something extraordinary’
He repeatedly clubbed his remains to mutilation

“Father, you just killed a man”
****************

I’ve sworn to you to solemnly uphold
Your sacred transferals in me as my ethical fealty
In which laws aren’t dared but held in esteem,
My call to the Force was like that of a messiah
You knew that just like I too – very well;
“For if there was a crime, damn all involved and
Make the call asap” these were your words –
Your norm, my belief, a practical now –
When guilt smolders his old face
I grabbed the phone and thumbed 911…

The Convict (IV) [Ballad]

Didactic old man
Fiddling with fright
As tears curled down
From a bemoaned and fretted face
To his foaming lip
The tears thirst bitter taste
Spiced with desired regret
Of an action already finished
Crime begets an accidental skirmish

~
His hands
Those quivering hands
Protective to a fault
The palpitation; his heart
The ‘eye of his soul’
Full of surprises and confusion
His heart and head
Were at war with intent
One seem to agree less
Which is it?
~
His old bat given as
A gift to his nipper
Now lays dirty as a witness
In the gore colours of crime
Glittering red instead of white
As day time
Further dim its light
It would be called that such
Was the gift, no, tool of death

~
A van with siren screeched to a still
From a distance that only time covers
Few men clad in black disembarks
With live weapon of coercion
Their face sternly professional
The cacophony from the siren
Mocks the victim –
The dead one, the twiddling one
And the old man – which ever it chooses
A new home seems near

~
Cuffed with cheap silver bracelet
And dragged out from the house
To the crying van
He took a wild look aback
His blood has turned his heart to a scar
The one that will forever illuminate
Him, it will shine exclusively
In this midst of his darkness
Where love loves hate
What a betrayal of doctrine!

~
They led him inside the van
After few steps on heavy feet
He was whisked off the city
His heart too was heavy
Heavy with thoughtless thought
Enmeshed in what he dreaded
And what he has always fought
He put his old head out of the window
And breathe his last fresh air
While the wind stranded his gray hairs

~
Hours followed closely in minutes
Like eternity
Till time raptured
At a very big iron gate
Where no one ever forgets its date
Of arrival – departure is the uncle of death
It comes when one less expects
Days,
Months, and
Years if lucky

The Convict ( V) (Rhyme)

Intrusion on silence’s speech
Ushered in by a black van’s screech.
A wigged man in his spectacle
Sits in tentacles of fates and miracles

And bystanders troops in and out
Some either chants, sings or shouts.
An old man braced himself at the dock
Vehemently clinging to the tinge of luck

Gallery of evidence and exhibit were displayed
At the gleeful eyes of the persecutors and the dismayed
The judge have seen and heard it all
To give his sentence and leave the hall

“Death by the rope” he declared with the gavel
On a sound block just before it clocked eleven
Though, he knew his judgement has no laxity
To determine his professional sanity

The Convict ( VI) (Cinqku)

Guilty?
The judge lied.
The whole world is
Guilty of my guilt now;
One down

My son
Could not speak
Because he knows
That my innocence rays
Like sun

This place
Holds nothing
Like my city –
Like sinners paradise
I’m in

The bars,
Walls and fence
Doesn’t make the jail
The feeling that you’re there
Makes it

Prison,
Survival
Ain’t for the weak
To live you’d have to seek
It here

These years
Diaries,
Newfangled thought…
My life seems distorted
And gone.

Waiting
For my last
Days as tenant
Of the damned and silenced
To come…

The Convict ( VII)

As I make myself acquainted to my new home
And cogitate about my innocent nightmare yell,
The one I had on my first night, I found myself a tome
In exchange for my new clothes and meal from a cell
Nearby, to inscribe the dumbfounding voice of my soul
As the diary of a prisoner sets to unfolds its event and reveries
Of an innocuous pater whose heart isn’t as dark as coal.
I’ll try and recall daily those hunting memories
Of having to cogently carve ethical creeds and credos on his
Heart, that saving lives through blades of silvers and metals
Isn’t as noble as saving lives through justice.
I never knew that that decision would be this lethal.

My intestines protested with rumbling roar
As hunger bursts my bubble of thought as it soars.

The Convict ( VIII) (Monorhyme)

Here are my diaries
The event in memories
And my life summaries
All in a dairy of stories

I will survive and live
I will believe
Fear or grieve;
Paper and pen, my relieves

Those whose ears fell
To the deafness of my yell
To make my life a hell
Just because I live in a cell

Will those days come again?
When my heart bores no pain
And my mind remains sane
Will my eyes cease to rain

Here, hunger is my friend
Impatient worms couldn’t fend
Nor could they pretend
They’re all about their ends

In the death row
Life is slow
Hope is low
Heck! Who doesn’t know?

My pen, my tool
My thoughts glued in inked-pool
Like a baby I am set to drool
To anyone who think me a fool

Do I have to brood
About who here is good
Or get misunderstood
Like people from my hood?

In an attempt to escape
Will the thought be a jape
To the inmates who’d laugh and gape
At an old man’s plan of escape?

I have missed the sun
And the laughter of my grandson
The game of wise pun
And the old age fun

Every day is the same
I breathe the blame
Every day is the same
Who is to blame?

Brawls and fights
In darken lights
Inmates test might
Winner rules the night

Survival is a skill
It is get killed or kill
Breathing is a thrill
It’s at one’s own will

People hate
People date
People mate
Inmate and inmate

I am just a heap
Waiting for the final sleep
A coma so deep
Will fate take the leap?

The Convict – Dairy of a prisoner (Sijo)

Crimes of criminals crescents the crowded cells
And lawlessness filters through the welded bars
Whoever is here is going to die anyway

Yesterday, shoes and combs were fashion
Today, laces and combs became an armour
Tomorrow, I’m sticking with my shaving stick
Survival…

The Convict – Dairy of a prisoner (Free Verse)

Yesterday, I had a dream
I was looking for my soul
I searched my palm,
My heart…
It wasn’t there
I traveled beyond the cloud
The Man above didn’t have neither
Am I loitering in damnation?

. . . Then . . .

I was scared to be awake,
Because dream and reality
Confuses me.. but…

I heard a sound
A buzzing one
It was threatening
Like the rapturous one
I had been told at prison chapel
But when I smelt blood
And a sting of virus…
…Malaria…

The Convict – Dairy of a prisoner (Mixed Rhyme)

If life was difficult for a reason
Then I should live in a season
Built by me alone
Shielded from outsiders
Termed “NO FRIEND ZONE”
But families are insiders
And I have one
I have a son
But he betrayed me
And I’m bittered as I could be
So I get it
Life is difficult for a reason

The Convict – Dairy of a prisoner (Acrostic)

I don’t know why I
Still query my
Love for
You…
My
Child quit the protocols
Please, save me some tears
Come around…
And…
Visit your father,
Me, I hope to hear from you
Soon…

The Convict – Dairy of a Prisoner (Free verse)

Crying Sky
Beat me
Let the world know a man-god also cries

Bleaching Sky
Cleanse me
Make me glitter under your eyes

Traveling sky
Take me
To my home after my sighs

Burning sky
Lighten me
In the bottle of urn where I’d lie

Colourful sky
Paint me
The memories of me when I die

The Convict – Dairy of a Prisoner (Nonet)

I have written countless letters home.
None were replied by my son, why?
Did the warder feign dispatch?
Its more than a year now
That I have been jailed
No friends no kins,
None have come
To see
Me
——–
Son,
I’m old.
Forgive me
You are my pride
The tears in my joy.
Gracefully write me back
Before life is whisked off me
Your silence might kill me faster
Like choked words before my funeral

The Convict (Prose Poetry)

I have never had this remorseful thought for years,
Not when my 911 call was what sent my dad to jail.
At night I have nightmares, and day, daymares.
I am now known as the bastard of my family, thanks to you ‘Mr. Right’!

Because I was taught right, the upsurged crime in my city was of great concern to me and my dad
And its unfortunate that he was caught up in its ugly web which I stood as a witness.
While my peers roam the street in nihilistic gaiety and vivacity, I dropped out of medical school
To pursue the dream of my father to be an enforcer, armed with M19 pistol, criminal bracelet and a silver badge.

That carries the honour of both our names and the city – each time i sighted a cadavar, my hatred flames
Because that could be me! When I see the paramedics or a doctor, my heart flames, because that could be me; and
When I see a victim of gunshots wounds, I panic too because that could also be me!
My hatred isn’t psychological but pater influenced cynicism laced with my city’s pessimism. My actions are instinctively precipitous.

Every day I grew into a fanatical conformist, I mate with the law, literally. I hated my dad but loved his didactic views
I made the city’s law sacred. Everyone dreaded me like cancer. I became the rebellious patriot when justice peekaboo’s with elites.
But I worry for my life. Who wouldn’t? When you’re loved by the few amongst the multitude then your life should be your concern.
So when I spot a potential criminal I hunt and put them behind bars before they go jaunting for crime.

I seized every opportunity to chose to do right and protect the city and if my father was involved
I wouldn’t protect him either. He taught me the opposite of ‘blood is thicker than water’, He said “Water is thicker than blood, because human’s can’t survive without water but blood is pure inbreed – it gets formed not for survival”.
To blood humans were, but without water we’d never be, we would have gone extinct. Fact is protect the source!

I received his letters from prison. It made me strong. He knew I acted well
Above all, our bond may have rekindled but another letter from the authorities nominated me to execute my dad.
Another reason for the world to love to hate me more.

I did not want to do it. I cried to the authorities but my tears were denied- it formed a gutter
At that moment, I felt a tinge of love and pity for him, that which was buried with hatred for toeing me to an enforcer cause
Rather than the surgeon I had wanted to become. I cursed myself and the city. I felt the way my dad had felt the day
He murdered someone. Good intentions are visited with regretful repercussions. That I understood now.

As the execution day draws nearer, I wanted not him or I to be blamed for anything. I owe my breathe to his deeds that faithful day, with this, I’ve made my decisions. I have realized the paradox of life. To love is to learn how to hate. I will sign the execution papers.
I will be there with my gun…

The Convict (Dramatic Monologue)

Its the execution day!
The sky shows it sympathetic mood
Like it was about to cry
Just the same way I’m about to rain

I am fighting with my conscience
For where my loyalty truly lies
“Its him. Family!”
“No. Its the cause gaddamit!
My troubled mind rants on…

“Where is the executioner?”
I heard them say.
It broke my bubble of trance
I marched towards the priest
And took a shameful look.

My father flashes before me
Oh dad! I silently exclaimed.
The crazy crowd chortled.
The priest made a cross sign.
I knew the time has come…

I thought of his afterlife…
I saw his gaze of regret
His eyes pierced mine
Like a sinner would at his tempter
That look… That look…
Isn’t a look that means well

Such immensity in his eyes
Knows that
Death is a painful peace
Not taken prepared…
That gaze again caught me

“He can’t die like this
Not with these photographic eyes
Staring and agitating for his death.
Was Jesus hated these much
To be crucified, why him?”
My heart sorrowfully spoke!

When I walked straight up, I thought;
Why would the authority want me
To take the life of he who gave me one?
Why me? He is my dad…
My thought further puzzles.

If taken him down the gallows
Is what loyalty means
Then
Loyalty just begets a wondering Judas –
An enemy has been identified.

What to be done needs to be done
I signaled the warder,
He affirmed and kicked the chair
And death choked the old man.
He battled like a headless chicken

The crowd cheered death over live
The sight made me quiver,
I couldn’t bear it anymore
I closed my eyes,
My shivering fingers located my gun

I held my firearm and aimed
At the rope between life and death
It caught life
It fell on a station stallion
That ‘bolted’ immediately into the woods

I laid down my arms
With my hands up high…
“Dad, death has been delayed”
I was whisked off.

Courtesy timpaker

 
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Posted by on December 26, 2014 in Literature/Writing

 

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