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The Daily Cardinal Est. 1892
Sunday, April 21, 2024
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I wondered if I was punished for sin; but here I am now, a sinner

All articles featured in The Beet are creative, satirical and/or entirely fictional pieces. They are fully intended as such and should not be taken seriously as news.

My mother left me each night

With a gentle kiss on the forehead, and a request to sleep tight

She knew all too well I wasn’t sleeping anytime soon

Nights often blurred into day; breakfasts came close to breaching noon

Time was distorted, and my sanity hung by a thread

As I stared at the ceiling, laying in bed

She shut my bedroom door and left me to rest

Rest was the last thing I did, as I felt a heaviness in my chest

The walls in my room were closing in 

I wondered if these circumstances were punishment for some sin

I was safe from one insidious virus but exposed to another

A silent killer that put me in a spot of bother

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Loneliness had infected me, and I had grown symptomatic 

Vulnerable and clingy, I was problematic

I felt myself roaming the sands of isolation 

With my devices in hand, I traversed these sands, mind prone to idealization 

The sand gave way beneath my feet,

As I seeked a soul or two to meet

My journey led me to a handful of tents

Anything would do for me, for my energy was spent

Each of them welcomed me, no questions asked 

For the time I spent with them, my pain was masked 

When they tended to the rest of their lives, I would bawl 

As I feared loss. If only I’d offered them something, anything at all

I leaned on them like they were crutches for broken bones

I likely made them all grimace and groan 

They were wonderful; they never let it show

Until it got way too much, and it was time for me to go

It’s been nearly two years, and I made it through the desert 

I finally reached the green, after a lot of pain and effort

But some nights I think of the hosts and their tents

I know I’d been a manchild, but I hope they don’t hold resentment

Their company was the painkiller to temporarily suppress the infection

Preventing me from falling to its attrition

I hope they remember me more fondly than as a painstaking guest

I continue to adore them; they will always be the best

I miss them sometimes, and I cherish the selflessness

I live with the guilt and regret born out of my childishness

While I’m no mariner with an albatross around his neck

I wish I’d done better and kept myself in check

I wondered if I was punished for sin; but here I am now, a sinner

I hope to find redemption, even if it’s only a tiny glimmer

I desire to build my own tent, host nomads in need

While this won’t undo the past, it could let my soul breathe 

As I do unto others what they did unto me

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Anupras Mohapatra

Anupras Mohapatra is a former opinion editor for The Daily Cardinal and currently serves on the Editorial Board. He is a senior double majoring in Computer Science and Journalism. 

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