The Killed and Undead

He never walked into the mortuary
he was taken there.
a few people walked alongside the
stretcher that carried him.
he did not know anyone.
he was dead.

he was dead was the verdict.
but he was sure,
even the guy who did the postmortem
did not know
that he was killed and
not dead

killed and dead are two different things.
he never knew that before,
and then he got killed.
when you are killed you have to wait
till you actually die

it takes time.
for some it happens very fast,
but for some it takes days,
weeks or months and
sometimes even years.
it takes time to
be fully dead.

they have a whole population
of the killed and not dead.
and the number is rising.
there is nothing called
population control.
a whole generation stranded
between life and death.

they do not have rights
not among those alive,
nor in the land of the dead.
they are just a
classification of the non-alive,
‘the killed and undead’

they have one past time though,
they think about their killer.
some even fall in love with them.
because some idiot preacher said
that loving the killer
is the most pious route to
the land of the dead.

there are always contests
on who had the best killer.
whose killer had the most
killer looks, but no one wins;
there is no victory in between
life and death.

they all hope their killer
will come to them, someday.
killed by someone else.
to join that stranded life between
the alive and the dead, because
being killed is different from
being dead.

they even pray to the dead god.
god was not killed,
he died a natural death.
but people still pray to him
the alive, the dead and the killed.
they all pray to the same
dead god.

the killed pray more than
the alive and the dead.
they pray so that their killer
also be killed.
and never have a natural death.
because natural` deaths
are direct passports to
the land of the dead.

they pray that their killers
never die…
they pray that their killers
never die…
they pray that their killers
never die…

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Categories: Poetry

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