King is dead

by Subhankar Das

God was living with me in disguise
and I did not realize it for
eleven long years
and when he created that void
and left I understood
that I did not deserve that love
that purity.

My King is dead. Simba the King.
‘Bring him back’ – she said
‘Put him back where he was’.
I tried you know, I tried
all those medicines, injections, mantras, vibrations,
fights were never enough.

‘But Alex is still around’ – he said.
Yes I know that
but this is more than fiction
this reality of life.

My King is dead.
‘I am sorry baby.
Hugs little boy’ – she said.
But I need kisses too
allover
and specially there
you know where.
She never replied back
but turned her face
on top of her long long neck.
Long necks always reminds me
of dicks.
And you must blame Man Ray’s
Necklace for that.

My new red silk lungi,
few candles and flowers and incense sticks
and an empty plastic water bottle
was all to accompany him in his last rites
and maybe a few drops of tears
and howls that managed to escape
from our civilized self’s.

He loved to play with an empty plastic bottle
for I never remembered
to buy him balls to play with
so he adjusted
and never complained.
My King.
My King is dead.
Simba the King.