The Bribe

 
He offered me a bribe,
A wad of crisp banknotes,
For my initials on the dotted line,
Approving substandard figures,
A contract he didn't deserve,
To milk the system,
Give form to his greed.

The notes lay on the table,
Seducing,
Flashing a vision --
My childhood friend,
In a car while my scooter spluttered,
His house, a palace compared to mine,
Climbing the ladder of success,
As I hung on to the weak threads of morality,
Admired by many, respected by all,
The life of every party,
My friend, the bribe-taker.

I resisted
The venom of temptation,
Spitting it out,
Shoved the money aside,
But the Devil, not defeated,
Opened another mirror of truth...
My son on his death bed,
Medicine bottles lying on the side,
Empty,
Fatherly love despairing,
I saw myself hugging him,
His feeble lungs coughing up blood,
Red patches on the white cloak
Of my integrity.

Helplessness overcame honesty,
The parent defeating the person,
With streaming tears, I yielded,
Signed the paper with trembling hands,
Saving my son,
In exchange for my soul,
Reeling under his Devilish grin,
As he whistled a tune,
Walked away with my honour,
Leaving behind a broken man,
A grateful father,
And hundreds of smiling Mahatmas.

~ Rahul Misra ~

More Poems By Rahul

Kavitanjali.com

© All Rights Reserved
Do not copy