When I spin in the open sky I see dark clouds on top of the blue hues

“Be Nice and Be Honest!”, Son

Not all men are good to be good! It's easy to be bad and a rabble-rouser instead…

Ma always said, “Be nice and be honest……” Is honesty any better in hues and dense fog, often cluttering the intent of human actions, not knowing,

Who is what? Even if it is a run-up to reach the curtains to see faces, one laughs, one cries, one smiles, one deceives and one lurks to kill,

To feel all of you satisfy their raging needs of necromania, all the lust and violence to be done in bits and pieces once the victim is dead,

Of strangulation, for nothing can formulate symmetry in the body when it is bloodied and scarred. The inner chambers have pores blocked,

Waiting for you to turn it on! Ma! To see and believe in the childhood saying, How humans are meant to be angels?

Fooling me in the shapeshifting times, letting me sleep in silence, calming my foolish heart, protecting me from the actuality of human catastrophe,

Of all the things you say, “Be Nice and Be Honest!” Is honesty anymore working in strands and contours of time and space?

I watched a woman bleed out a few months ago! No one came and looked after her, maybe someone knew but they did not dare to help her!

Ma, I still remember, when you dropped me at my school, I would not leave your hand until the Teacher Miss held my hand and took me to her class.

My water bottle always fell on the concrete, you came running to pick it up and always had a spare one at hand to hand it over again.

“Being nice and being honest” is what I learned from you Ma! But the world is too obverse, not conversing at any point, the confluence is being a drag more and more.

Cliques are common, and barriers are being installed, maybe that’s why I was aloof! In times of need, I was not there.

On this momentous occasion, I would remember every bit of the scene in Forrest Gump when Forest kneels down in Jenny’s grave and reads out a beautiful letter.

I hope you liked this letter Ma! Sorry! “I am not nice and honest, Ma!” But I had to kill Dad for what he did to you!

Maybe there is redemption, maybe there is peace, maybe there is tranquillity, maybe there is hope. But I am your son, after all, from hereon I will do the right thing,

Will turn myself to the police…. And! I wished I could have helped you when you were left out with your throat slit and die!

Cosmic Context: This poetic fiction is about a son who was always taught to be good and be a better person in life by his mother. He was born to a loving mother but an abhorring abusive father who would physically abuse both him and his mother, The father gave him nerve-chilling fear. His mother stayed with his father, even after he left home for college, and when he was working in the city far from his hometown. One fine day! He was returning home to spend his vacation and he saw someone at the other end of the street just lying still and he reached near to the body, with each step he took after covering 100 metres, his heart started pounding, midway he started running, what he saw, he could not believe his eyes! he falls down on the body with head, face and eyes growing pink and red alike.

His nerves crawled inside his neck like a thick inscribing root as if it would burst out open and appear on the surface of the soil! He cried and held her even if it was raining. Then the cops came and took him and got his father jailed. On his mother’s first death anniversary, he is having a heart-to-heart convo with his mother atop her grave, and he says How her “Be Nice and Be Honest” quote though far from being true, he wants to live by it. His hands were covered in blood as he killed his father the same way his father killed his mother. Slit his throat open and watched him bleed to death. He gently touches his mother’s tombstone let his blood-laden fingers smudge the edges of her tombstone, and swiftly drives his car to a nearby police station.

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