, , , , , , , , , ,

Indifferent hands
showed him the way
towards the ledge,
indifferent hands
pushed him
over the edge ….

He flew
like a fallen angel;
arms outspread
fingers pointing to the sky
… perhaps in one final act
of prayer and absolution
that only he can know and tell.
Face upturned,
eyes blinded
by the glaring sun.
Strange, he probably thought,
how something so present
can remain unseen.
And he must have closed his eyes,
to block out the light.

The passing people
hurrying off
to deadlines
morning chores
and work;
walking or riding vehicles
that were ferrying them to meet
their mundane cares,
raced one another
across the length of Taft Avenue.
Too caught up
with their own worries
to even smile or say “hi”.
Wrapped up
in the ticking of their clock.

When the dull thud
resounded on the road,
they all stopped and stared
at his limp lifeless body.
Status updates went out,
twitting out horror and confusion.
Wondering, how one so young
could have gotten it so wrong?
Or when did this happy young man
ended up so lonely and torn?
And where did he get the resolve
to be so sure and so bold?
Why did he just throw away
his precious untested soul?

But work and reality
called to them,
and they cannot stop
for commiseration or contemplation
of what drove this poor boy
into the arms of oblivion.
And so they hurried off
to their cubicled lives,
living within boundaries
of delineated squares.

Glancing at watches,
checking their cellphones,
they walked away.
Still shaking their head
in confusion and rejection
of spilled tender blood.
As they left,
the rain fell —
washing off stains
on soiled pavement.
But the soles of their shoes
and the wheels of their cars,
still bore traces of crimson.
And his death was still beyond
their comprehension ….