One after another they all came down like vultures.

They cared least about the boy

All they wanted was their share of his flesh

They spoke about their acquaintances yet had none

They praised his work yet mocked his youth

They cursed his Man and taunted his love

They came for his funeral and scorned at his follies

They went back and they all wrote…

Wrote about his death, wrote about his silence

Wrote about his Man, wrote about his drawbacks

But little did they know the life he led

Little did they know the work he did

Little did they know the smile he had

Little did they know about him

They mocked him in public

They mocked him in private

They mocked his friends for their grieving silence

They mocked his Man and mocked more

Little did they know the relationship they shared

Little did they know he was named after Him by his father

Little did they know he wanted to be Him

At the tender age he was, he dreamt big

That dream was both inspired and fulfilled by his Man

Yet they mock, mock, mock… they made a tamasha of his death

(Written on very public death of a dear friend)

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