The Halfman

“Stub”, they called him .


His mother had died in the birthing bed ,
He knew not his father –
Nor did his mother, he suspected –
For two his early years he was made to stay as his uncle’s foster .

The man was a terrible thing, he remembered ;
Hurting, abusing, stinking, drinking and – Gods! – how he thundered !
Then there was a fire, yes ;
Oh, his uncle’s body had been such a mess !


Then They had poked him, They had kicked, They had leered ;
A dog had thrice tried to feast on his butt .
He had raged, he had wept, he had sneered .
And still They whispered, They stared, They hurt .

Women he saw aplenty ,
One-and-all, they saw him too .
Snort they did and aplenty ;
Giggling , ‘Half-man!’ they mocked him and blew kisses his way .


All this for the Lord’s careless hands (he thought) !
Damn the squinting eyes, damn the stubby nose !
Damn the hairy nostrils, damn the hoarse prose !
Damn the shabby locks, damn the stinking smallclothes !
Damn the stunted legs, damn the bushy brows !
Damn all the pretty gods anyway, and damn the bloody roads !

He was short, too short to be living, he gathered ;
He was a dwarf : ugly, tiny and scary besides.
They shunned him, they whispered low –
And he always knew turning thirty, for him, was not enough height gained !


“Stub”, they called him .