Fifty-fifty in the mind

He walks in nimbly, with a marksheet he wants to hide
From the loving parents who say he is their pride.
Fifty-fifty in the kid’s mind: to admit failure, or simply lie
And drown deeper in his guilt as each night passes by?

A tiny morsel in her mouth, and two bellies to feed,
She faces a dilemma between love and greed,
Fifty-fifty in the cat’s mind: save it for her kitten, or have her fill
And let the young one sleep hungry in the December chill?

A plump young lady eyes a succulent chocolate slab
That impedes her will to fight her ugly flab.
Fifty-fifty in her mind: to resist, or to surrender
And shift her slimming deadline to another date on her calendar?

Hoping for his maiden win, he hits the shot of his last set,
And the ball stops for a split second as it hits the tip of the net.
Fifty-fifty in the player’s mind: Will today be his game,
Or will he yet again return, hanging his head in shame?

The penniless, abandoned old man holds a prescription slip,
There’s a car at the crossroad that might offer him a tip.
Fifty-fifty in his mind: stoop down and beg, or stand tall and firm,
No matter if his illness makes him scream and squirm?

With a prayer on his lips and a racing heartbeat,
He sees her approach him, and he gets cold feet.
Fifty-fifty in the lover’s mind: Will she hold his hand and smile,
Or will she walk far away, far, many a mile?

Autobiography of a Wall

I am a wall, dead and cold,
But hear me out, I've a story to be told,
Of the place I've seen for years two score.
Hear me out, before I fall to the floor.

The loving patriarch of a family of four,
Had built me with love and care galore,
I stood tall in the courtyard, through sunshine and rain,
For the family that bonded through laughter and pain.

I was the canvas for the toddlers' meaningless art,
And a love letter for the doting wife, so she could speak out her heart,
And I still bear the marks of the wet vermilion-coated palms
Of the elder son's wife who was welcomed home with open arms.

But soon I saw a sad turn of the tide,
When one day the old patriarch died,
A spate of misfortunes then found its way through,
And a feud between the siblings began to brew.

One said to the other, "To deal with you is tough,
I'm moving in next door!" And he walked out in a huff.
Thus, the boys who once used me for graffiti and child play,
Used me now to veil the hate, that was growing by the day.

The distraught, widowed mother often leans by my side,
And in my million crevices lets her tears and wails hide,
When I see what's around me - hatred and pall,
I oft thank my stars I'm made an expressionless wall.

I heard I'm going to be razed and remade,
So each brother gets his space and ends his eternal tirade,
I invoke them to rather destroy me as a whole,
If that can revive bonhomie in their lost soul.