Reminiscing Humanity

In a crowded train in a busy town,
A poor old guy looks around,
But sadly, a seat was not to be found,
And no one could help with heads bowed down.

Only one gentleman, with head held high,
Offers his seat to the poor old guy.
The guy takes it, returns a smile,
A smile that’s really one of a kind.

It wasn’t like a greeting, it was true,
one redolent of a warm thank you,
but sadly, no one else in the train knew.
The gentleman and the guy were the only two.

He caught his breath and took his place,
Grateful for this little space.
But the smile doesn’t last on his shriveled face,
As the look of relief quickly fades.

No matter how hard he tries,
Worry’s apparent in his eyes.
His costly watch was a poor disguise,
for his torn sweater told no lies.

He fumbles with the toothpastes in his bag,
Sales of the day had gone really bad.
He sits worried with fidgeting hands.
Feeling helpless, without plans.

But he calms himself as logic sets in,
Hopes die, reality begins.
Yesterday and today are not akin.
Sometimes you lose, sometimes you win.

The act of humanity rekindles the smile,
A mellow return from a short exile.
The rest of the crowd would’ve witnessed the guy,
Had they looked up from their phones for a while.

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The Moral Decadence – 1/2

“Do you promise that the testimony you shall give in the case before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God? “

“I do.”

“Mrs. Margaret thank you for being here with us today. Can you elaborately state what happened on the night of February 28th?”

“Certainly. Ooh it was a horrible night! Horrible…..horrible. It has been six months since, but I still cannot shake off the trauma. It was late at night, around 10pm I suppose when I had heard someone wail. It sounded really familiar and it was coming from next door. I was worried for Bob, I was worried something bad had happened to him. A good man he was really. And I was right to worry.

I peeped through my window and saw hazy silhouettes. They looked like the silhouettes of two men. One was fat and the other slim. I presumed the fat one to be Bob, but I wasn’t sure about the other one. The slim one, with a knife in hand, was repeatedly lunging at the other one. After several swings and misses, he finally struck.

Oh! It was brutal. Utter diabolical. The fat one clutched his heart with one hand and raised the other in a muted forgiveness. But the slim one didn’t stop. Blow after blow. Strike after strike. Blood splattered over the blinds and painted the scene red. He then started to choke the other as he staggered towards the kitchen. And that’s where I saw them.

The fat one revealed itself first and I was right about its identity. And when the slim one slowly came to view, I felt my very foundations shake.

It was Walters. His face was purely cynical. His eyes were possessed. He put all his effort into strangling Bob, like his life depended on it. Bob saw me through the window and his dozy eyes pleaded for help. I cupped my mouth with both my hands and began to sob uncontrollably. I felt sorry for him. I felt helpless.

But all my sobbing suddenly stopped when I saw Walter seeing me. I was horrified. And so was he. A feeling of anger pulsed within me on seeing his pathetic face. I was taken over by a fit of adrenaline and decided to take action. So I ran towards the door. I wanted to scare him off and rescue Bob. I still had hope.

I barged into Bob’s house and it was dark everywhere. I took a baseball bat with me for protection, not that I could use one at this age. Only the kitchen lights were on and I moved cautiously. I peeped in and only Bob was there, lying on the floor. Lying in a pool of blood oozing out of his punctured, mutilated body.

I couldn’t hold my emotions. I was furious. But also scared. I felt like a deer left in a lion’s cage. Waiting to be hunted. But ready to fight. I realized I hadn’t thought this through. Then I heard the door click and I realized I was trapped inside the house. The scoundrel tried to frame me, but blood red footprints outside the house proved my innocence. “

The Bailiff offered her some water. She calmed herself with a deep breath and wiped away her tears.

“Sorry to put you through this again Mrs. Margaret, but I promise to keep this quick. Did you know Mr. Walters very well?”

“Yes, I did.”

“So you’re positive you saw Mr. Walters that night, right?”

The Defense Attorney rose to shout, “Objection your Honor! That’s a leading question.”

“Objection Sustained”

The Plaintiff Attorney smiled. “Let me rephrase it for you, Mrs. Margaret. Considering your age and the low light conditions, are you sure you saw Mr. Walters that night?”

“Yes, I am. I can never forget the look of apprehension when he saw me notice. The dread in his eyes was chilling.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Margaret. You may now go back to your seat.”

Having heard the testimony, the jury was already convinced. But the Defense Attorney Jack Statham had an unflinching countenance. He had earlier talked to his client’s friends and they were all shocked to know this. From what they had told him, Walters seemed like a fine guy.

Moreover, Walters had the perfect alibi. He was at the airport at the time of the murder. His identity was verified by the Customs and these guys don’t mess around. And no, he did not have a secret twin. He checked.

He was fully convinced that his client was being falsely convicted. He’s an honest man who is true to his profession. He helps the weak raise voice against injustice and Walter’s case was an opportunity. He wanted a resounding win. A win that will teach a lesson.

“Does the prosecution have any other witnesses?”

“No, your Honor”

“Does the defense have any questions?”

“No your Honor. We’d like to call upon Mr. Walters to make his case.”

“Permission Granted”

It was going as planned. Walters would present his case, Jack would show security footage from the airport and his verified travel tickets as evidence. Jack wanted this case to serve as an example of how justice will always triumph. He wanted it to be impactful and inspiring.

“What do you have to say for yourself,  Mr. Walters?”, the Judge asked solemnly.

Walters spoke for the first time.

“I confess, your Honor.”

To be continued…

The Psychotic Love

He crawled backward on both hands. His back scrubbing against concrete, chest splattered with blood, and eyes looking skyward; fixated on his towering hunter and desperately pleading for mercy.

His heart pounded harder by the second and he had never felt more alive. He was deep in regret and fear was the only other emotion. Hopes of Cod forgiving him had deafened by now.

Meanwhile, a roadside tramp, infamous for her psychotic conduct and erratic realism, came running towards Cod. The gathered crowd watching her run assumed that that would be her end, for good.

The blade glimmered in sunlight as Cod’s hand rose high. A flash almost blinded his prey’s vision which he feared would be his last. He closed his eyes and waited for the blow; A blow that would never come.

The tramp had embraced Cod from behind, just before he could bring down his wrath. She started claiming Cod to be her long-lost son and started screaming in joy. The crowd burst into laughter after witnessing the frenzy.

The dread in the atmosphere dissipated. This infuriated Cod further, and he decided to get rid of her. He’d almost swung his blade in her direction when he froze to interpret what she’d just said.

“I Love you, my son. Please let’s go home. I’m tired.”

He’d been bereaved and alone lately, and she’d hit the right note. The words didn’t make logical sense, but their essence was satisfying. He turned around to hug her, much to the shock of the crowd.

Cod got arrested shortly after and the crazy lady lost her “son”, again. The victim was grateful and so was Cod. The lady finally stopped her search and had mentally adopted Cod. The psychotic lady had saved a life and she didn’t even know it.

The Old Beggar

Heavy luggage in each hand causes both my shoulders to droop. They have this incessant urge of falling to the ground, as if they’re troubled by their own weight and feel like laying down for a while. The searing pain in my arms is trying to pull my nerves apart. I briskly walk through the crowd in hopes of getting this over with quick.

 

I feel disgusted by the mob and the heat, “Why is the railway station this crowded so late in the night?”. Then my eyes fall upon an old lady sitting on the railway platform. She’s sitting upright with her legs straight out. Like sitting in attention.

 

She looks old and destitute. Her hair’s all frizzy. I don’t know if her saree’s always been brown or if it’s due to the dust and pollution. It certainly doesn’t look new. It’s half torn to reveal her legs up to her thighs.

 

She seems to be searching for something but looks up at me when I pass her by. She can’t afford to miss out on anyone. The rarity of a helping soul who can alleviate her grievance compels her to do so. Her eyes are teeming with emotions. Hope, fear, longing and distress. I pass her by quickly, before she could even begin to beg for help. Before her pleading eyes could bore into me. I’m a hypocrite.

 

I couldn’t help but wonder. Who would care about them? Who would want to help? How long until they get better? Will they ever? Would I be helping her by giving her money that brings her respite? Or would I be helping her by giving her nothing, to teach her to live on her own? I can never answer any.