Once, as a rowdy teenager,
I upset the innocence of my grandmother
and she threw me out of her house.
I wandered aimlessly in the street,
with a stick in my hand, and
went on striking ruthlessly at
any objects that stood in my way-
releasing my own frustration
for lack of any desire or motivation.
I sat on a park bench,
planning for some crummy revenge,
holding my saddened face down,
like a disgruntled circus clown.
I saw a street dog roaming around
that came close and stood by me.
I stealthily pulled my friendly stick and
hit the innocent hound,
forcing him to kiss the ground.
The dog cried in immense pain.
A sense of guilt tormented me for
striking that innocent creature, in vain.
As time passed by sitting there alone,
I saw a bully boy coming around.
He instigated me to stand up and fight,
but, I remained absorbed
in my own sorry plight.
The bully boy pulled me on, and
rapidly started punching on my face.
Suddenly, the pain stricken dog
jumped on the traitor and
saved my grace.
With a saddened and bruised face,
I returned home,
thinking about my own guilt and
about the animal compassion when,
I saw my grandmother,
eyes full of tears,
rushing to hug me,
in some rare concession.