Bad Apples

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28/10/2014 by Siddiqui Fayesal

I plucked the bad apple
From the basket.
I took them to prevent a
Bad sale of it.

The buyer came upon me
And shouted out aloud
In the marketplace.
He cried that I cheated him
By selling a lighter

I tried to talk him out.
I tried with all my might.
I tried to show the exchange
I held in my hand.
I tried to be fair and right.

The shiny red that I had plucked
Was fine from the out.
It was the insides that was
Worrying me about.

I tried to hide the apple’s
Flaw by just telling the good
Man that it was a bad apple to
He pointed at it and asked me
to show him why I called a
Shiny one bad and why I
Acted sly.

I tried to hide the apple
Behind my back.
I tried to lie to him about what
It lacked.

“The shiny one”, he shouted, “is mine.”
With a fugitive’s glance I
Lowered my eyes in shame.
The bad apple pretended to be
Good. How could the buyer I

The bad apple lay innocent
In my palm which sweated
By the heat from its core.
The bad apple was bad.
I didn’t care if
Nobody else saw!

Siddiqui F.

NB: Written at the Cuffe Parade CCD.

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