Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator
Several poetic expressions of outrage and grief have been posted to the Internet since last Friday's massacre at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. The following, by Vikas Sharma, gives an imagined poetic perspective from the shooter's mother, herself a teacher and his first victim, and her sense of how her son has impacted the institution of motherhood.
No one, of course, can reveal the mind of the shooter or his mother. They are both gone. Sadly, their domestic difficulties resulted in the deaths of twenty-six innocents who had no involvement or responsibility in the family hell that produced and nurtured this psychopath.
A Mother's Lament
by Vikas Sharma
O! How evil must my womb be,
In which I bore thee.
What poison ran from my breast,
On which you fed like a pest
I raised you all wrong
All evil and headstrong
Good that you shot me dead
For a son like you, this mother bred
Why another twenty-six you kill
Sending out waves of horror and chill
Of these twenty were flowers yet to bloom …
If only I had nipped the evil and saved the doom…
Twenty and more mothers cry tonight
Many more hug their babies in fright
For people all over the world, let it be understood
My son not only killed his mother, but motherhood
Poetry Appreciator
Several poetic expressions of outrage and grief have been posted to the Internet since last Friday's massacre at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. The following, by Vikas Sharma, gives an imagined poetic perspective from the shooter's mother, herself a teacher and his first victim, and her sense of how her son has impacted the institution of motherhood.
No one, of course, can reveal the mind of the shooter or his mother. They are both gone. Sadly, their domestic difficulties resulted in the deaths of twenty-six innocents who had no involvement or responsibility in the family hell that produced and nurtured this psychopath.
A Mother's Lament
by Vikas Sharma
O! How evil must my womb be,
In which I bore thee.
What poison ran from my breast,
On which you fed like a pest
I raised you all wrong
All evil and headstrong
Good that you shot me dead
For a son like you, this mother bred
Why another twenty-six you kill
Sending out waves of horror and chill
Of these twenty were flowers yet to bloom …
If only I had nipped the evil and saved the doom…
Twenty and more mothers cry tonight
Many more hug their babies in fright
For people all over the world, let it be understood
My son not only killed his mother, but motherhood
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