Once upon a time
a father with his belt –
(with black shiny paint
and a steel which is melt)
And a son, a pen in his hand
A book by his side
A lamp blowing light
Tears in his eyes
The fear in his veins
With his wimped tiny mole
(A cry in his neck and
a gulp in his bones)
Whimp whimp strikes the ground
Wipes the tears,picks up his pen
Shakes up his head,
Gives him a cloth,
to blow up his nose
(A smile on the boy's face
The fallen tear on the page's lace
It dried his shake on hand and
moved him a pace)
Whimp, whimp, whimp – strikes again
(A posed fear on son's face)
Whimp, and he strikes again
(The clueless child, shakes with his pain )
The blats on the floor
and its black remains
The years of slaps
which slashed up cement
(He comes back..
drops his belt )
A relief in boy's breath
The steel fallen,
relief is felt
The father with his red hands
(Blood flows out at a spot's end )
Smiles at the son
Dark is his eyes like year's repent
(A strung in his mind
He shakes only once,
As he picks up his belt)
He sits on his couch and
acts as he had a father –
with a belt-
(with its black shiny paint and
a steel which is melt.)
(this poem is Just my imagination )
A haunting reflection on the cycle of violence within a family, where a father’s painful legacy is passed down to his son. Through raw imagery and symbolic language, this poem explores the emotional scars of childhood trauma and the generational impact of abuse.
