The Loser

The loser; he was no one.

But he was someone with a fire in him.

He was a frail angel in this dark world.

Well, he was a loser indeed.

 

He was so lucky!

He never got the toys he liked.

His parents never liked him.

The only friends he had were

The lonely roads and blank walls,

Along-side were the monsters

He shared his nights with.

 

Never appreciated, never loved.

With a never met lust for a mother’s touch.

Strangely, he was a happy kid.

 

His dreams were beautiful.

So were their adaptations

That he expressed so well on the canvas!

His paint brush was his wand

And boy! Did he create magic!

 

The magic, his muggle father couldn’t understand.

No second thoughts, he grabbed his rainbow hands

And painted them in the red of blood instead.

 

They never dared to paint again.

Losing the only source of his blissful fire, his soul.

Reality knocked him hard, the phoenix turned cold.

School was a storm, but he found a distant shore.

 

And safely grew into an introvert adult.

The dark clouds faded a little,

Revealing a glimpse of light.

As after every night comes a sunrise.

 

You see,

He fell in love with a beautiful girl,

With those big brown eyes and mesmerizing smiles.

Just to be rejected.

‘Loser! Loser! Loser!’ they said

And he accepted.

 

As time passed by,

He distanced himself more.

His parents never bothered to bring him close.

He got lost in the drift, so far.

As he had lost everything he loved by heart,

His dreams, his colors, his love,

His job, smile and now, even his tears.

He went numb, blank for a whole month.

No one noticed. He was invisible.

 

One day, against all odds

He woke up with a smile.

He finally knew

What he was meant to do with his life.

He realized what happiness is.

It was being free.

 

So, he wrapped a rope around his neck.

With twinkling eyes, he climbs his desk.

A little push that was all he needed.

And his name ‘the loser’ was enough to give that.

 

Its funny how people don’t see what’s in front of them.

When we don’t realize where we turned bad

When all the time we did spent

On doing all the bad things to others,

Until the time’s gone or until they are dead.

 

His parents in disbelief as for them,

He,  died that day.

But, we do know that

He had died before in millions of ways.

 

The loop of rope rose above his head.

It turned into a halo, vibrant, glowing.

Just like those paintings and rainbow hands.

Adorned with the same red his father cursed his hands with

His last words on the blank wall read,

‘I am winning my life from this death.’

 

For once, he was not a loser.