Sins and Sinners

When does one qualify to be a sinner?

The sky seemed to have hosted a battle long awaited,
for the blood that spilled, painted the field.
It was at this hour of the day that the vultures all gathered,
they had waited a fortnight for the big feast.

“Justice will be served, yes!”, said one.
Others repeated these words, as it be the only known truth.
Murderer, Man-slayer, Machiavellian, shouted the just people;
their dictionaries seemed biased for words but other.

“Do you wish anything before your last breath, traitor?”,
asked the hangman as he prepared the noose.
The traitor looked up at the sky, the mob, the horizon;
the wishes he couldn’t count outnumbered the ones he could.

He knew he wasn’t getting rid of the disdain that filled the air,
the filth that corrupted the place washed sincerely the sincere souls.
The cutthroat had longed for fame, for recognition, his whole life,
finally which he got disguised as infamy, for death was on his side.

“Yes, I have one wish. But I fear if that’s feasible to be fulfilled.”
“Go on. Vomit it out! Be it any. The mob will decide; unless it’s to be freed.”
“Last night, I conversed with a nine year old. I wish to let these people know that, uninterrupted.”
“I speak on behalf of the mob you mook. Words have never been stopped unless otherwise interpreted.”

I was all sordid and glum.
Like a maniac I ate and drank rum.
People around me couldn’t help but chastise,
From among them came a boy half their size.

He wiped my tears and rubbed my shoulder.
And let me sense how much I had grown pale and colder.
He sat beside me without any condescension,
and asked me when I was going to die and if I had any apprehensions.

“I see death each day, dawn and dusk.”
declared the boy while he tried to tie his shoe lace.
“What do you know about death?”
I couldn’t help but reply, as I felt my feet go numb.

“I have seen it in the eyes of Lucy.
A room is where she stays in the daytime.
For in the night, she is occupied by different men, sometimes women, each hour.
I don’t know why, but she screams a lot, and there’s nobody to help her.”

“I have felt it in the trembles of a monk.
He lives right next to the building where Lucy stays.
I didn’t know until I saw him coming out of the room where she stays.
My friend Paul says that it’s an emotion of guilt.”

“I have sensed it in the eyes of Lucy’s mother.
She stays a block away from where Lucy stays.
But in the night she fetches people with manners my mother asks I should learn.
And she jots down their names, and sends them to make Lucy scream.”

“I have tried to forget it when my mother cried,
when I tried to help Lucy get out of that room.
With every slap she gave me, her cries became louder.
When I exclaimed that I wanted to help, she hugged me.”

“I have heard it from my father’s mouth.
He is the hangman who will hang you from the noose tomorrow.
He says its a way of salvation for all those people who have committed sins,
to hang them and let the world be free of sinners.”

“Sir, I guess although I hate my father,
but I believe it’s better to die once
than to die everyday, for the sins will never end
and the sinners will never cease to exist.”

I was shocked by the irony he brought through his words.
And couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you hate your father?
He helps people get salvation.”
The boy replied, “My father owns the building where Lucy stays.
And he does nothing to stop her screams.”