When a human being,
full of flesh with ripe skin commits
suicide,
they go to hell.
When a human being,
down with all the grief
the relied on have given commits
suicide,
they go to hell.
The pits where darkness sees new
lows
a never ending cycle
engrips them
for a mere one
eternity.
For how many times have my ears witnessed
such announcements
spitting their way out
from the mouths of the righteous?
And at times
sometimes
every single time
I wonder,
did the rope plunger not know?
Sometimes yes, the words of The Guider
escaped them
and the musk of Muhammad
forbade them.
Yet, the other times, the oft-prostrator
whose imprints
on the bare ground are captured
from the dawn
of light till its betrayal
migrates
willing to another realm.
Not unbeknownst of the horrors
that await as the Divine
has ordained
but knowingly
with pride
choosing the ever-growing flames
over a handful that boasted
boasted of being kin by
blood
or
love
yet kept them suspended
by a rope
remarkably similar
fiddling with the black chair
underneath.
He leaves
with a smile
foreseeing the regret that would flush
the infringers of his soul
fully deserved it is
for like the righteous justice
a pious worshipper should do,
he has done so too,
to the souls that wronged his,
the eyes that violated hers.
Such a knowing is but enough
for the dead soul who cries
too now
perhaps louder
with more madness
and agony in
another
hell.
