Treasure Island

Nikhil Parekh

(27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

fake godfather


For him I wasn't a passionate poet penning down
thousands of lines of mystical poetry,
What he considered me was just an employee;
relentlessly running in and out; through the doors of
his bombastic office.
For him I wasn't the innocuous child wandering at will
through the jungles,
What he considered me was just an embellished servant;
attending to each of his clients with a big and
ostentatiously false smile.
For him I wasn't the angel sipping milk delectably
from mother cow,
What he considered me was just a hi-tech attendant;
scrupulously sorting and arranging his plethora of
computer files.
For him I wasn't the fantasy eye casting my shadow on
every pretty damsel that I encountered on the streets,
What he considered me was a financial institution who
could extract money from the uncouth world; dispense
it judiciously to pacify even the tiniest of his
demands.
For him I wasn't the angel who slept cozily for
indefatigable number of hours on the silken couch,
What he considered me was just an electric paced
machine barging through the door of his office at the
crack of dawn; and before anyone else entered his
empire.
For him I wasn't the philanderer gallivanting with
brazen relish through the winding hills,
What he considered me was just a physically fit and
robust individual who could clamber and descend the
stairs leading to his cabin umpteenth number of times.
For him I wasn't the carefree and reckless student
bunking classroom with nonchalant ease to meet my
beloved,
What he considered me was just a special insect; who
buzzed incessantly around his visage; pretentiously
praising him about things he had never committed.

For him I wasn't the impetuous youngster who spent
every night drowned in gallons of intoxicating whisky
dancing to the beats of vivacious music,
What he considered me was a professional with dynamic
speech; the only man who could entertain his guests
for weeks together on the glittering telephone.
For him I wasn't just the tiny kid playing
boisterously with several other of my kind,
What he considered me was an audacious and gallant
chested soldier; standing tall and domineering to
protect his assets; opening the door of his car; every
time he felt an urge to drive fast towards the valley
of enchantment.
For him I wasn't the emperor of my dreams; sitting on
the profusely jeweled throne,
What he considered me was just somebody who could spot
and shrug off all the disdainful hair sticking to his
shirt; evolve ingenious ideas to fetch him his
emoluments for years to unveil.
For him I wasn't the maverick munching toffee and
simultaneously writing love letters,
What he considered me was a perfect 'Butter Man';
adroitly convincing and polishing the shoes of his
vast repertoire of alien customers.
For him I wasn't the mischievous teenager bursting
into pools of uninhibited laughter every other second,
What he considered me was just a vibrant entity who
wrote his International speech; cajoled his vain
senses when he found himself encompassed by a state of
inexplicable nervousness.
For him I wasn't the pampered boy feasting my eyes on
a fathomless ensemble of ravishing fruits and curd,
What he considered me was just an executive who could
prolifically travel all around the country; while he
slept blissfully with the girl of his dreams; with
nothing else except his snores to disturb him.
For him I wasn't a prince swimming in an ocean of
pearls; tossing an armory of jewels like matchsticks
in the air,
What he considered me was just an infinitesimal little
banana; whose skin he could ruthlessly peel whenever
he wanted; before savoring the entire fruit.
For him I wasn't the baby cuddling tightly to my
mother's invincible lap; drifting off to blissful
sleep as she sung mystical rhymes into my ear,
What he considered me was just a mature broker;
intricately manipulating and shielding each of his
shady and illegal deals.
For him I wasn't the adventurous crusader; profoundly
admiring a blanket of voluptuous stars from the summit
of the hill,
What he considered me was just an expert salesman;
propagating the essence of his hollow ideals far and
wide; standing dead straight as if struck by a hostile
arrow; nodding my head boundless number of times to
the faintest of whispers he uttered.
For him I wasn't God's vehement disciple; inexorably
ringing the bells of the temple; wholesomely lost in
the omnipotent aura of the creator,
What he considered me was just an obnoxious table of
reception; uttering 'hi', 'hallo', 'sorry', 'thank
you', all throughout the waking day and for some part
of the moistened night.
For him I wasn't my beloved's lover; enveloped
intensely in the supremely volatile arms of her
romance,
What he considered me was just a dirty solicitor; ever
ready to fight every legal case of his; win every
battle triumphantly in front of the judge.
For him I wasn't human at all; with feelings, desires;
fantasies; emotions; passions..etc..,
What he considered me was just his chained employee;
licking his feet in meek submission; executing all his
Business deals to astronomical perfection.

As these were the things inevitable to be done; to get
that pay cheque of mine at the end of every month; and
of course till that time he
could take the privilege of dominating me,
But mind you irrespective of my compulsion to exist;
he would
only for the time being remain my fake godfather; but
could never replace and was nowhere near even the
minutest shadows of my adorable and
omniscient Creator. 

Submitted: Sunday, August 17, 2014

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