Radheya

My father, my source, you saw my future
the blood, carnage; the savage luster
of the myriad sacrifices, thin rope of hope.
Your rays of power reached her womb
spun my soul; my strength, without a pause.
Was it your whim, a fancy, to let me be
in this existence void; bereaved of truth?

Mother, you cry for me as if I am yours
to be grieved for, be proud of; as if
am worn sparklingly a jewel; worthy hero;
my lifeless body makes up for your sin.
You knew my brothers would never stop.
Yet, they were let my life be spilled,
dignity snatched, crushed for a promise.
In this spiraling storm of hate, I was flung,
far and away, snapped, beaten.

Her laughter, chiding voice, ring clear in
my ears like the galloping thunder fast.
My friend, split open with vengeance
lies in his blood; the sweat of certainty
dripping down his killer’s smile, while
she looks on, content in a frozen moment.

Never sought, never wanted, not the
diamonds and platters of golden fruits.
All the ache, the anger, the pain, all for
what I didn’t know was indeed mine.
Though loyal; expendable, derelict in this
world where the worthy adorn the drain.

Finally the great Radheya retreats, bows
to the call of life; cheated and vanquished
from this realm where good and loyalty
measured in the bitterness of propriety.
I retreat.