For all your righteous sins,

Rot in hell,

You sanctimonious bastard.

Even when I begged and pleaded “please don’t,”

You kept striking with that rod of a hand.

Unwilling, uncompromising on your desire for dominance.

 

Shame never defeat you addiction to dominance.

Especially with me, your child, it caused you to commit the worst of sins.

When you were busy striking me with that iron hand,

You forgot god was watching, making a special place for you in hell.

Once there, you’ll beg, just like me, “please don’t.”

But even god will see that you’re best labeled “SANCTIMONIOUS BASTARD."

 

Your name, Madhu, now synonymous with the words “sanctimonious bastard,”

Only fuels that crude demand of your, at first over socks, to assert your dominance.

When you struck me with the seventh blow, I cried “please don’t.”

Over wearing socks, you hit me, never wanting to see the wrong in your sins.

For you, there’s a shining throne god has reserved in hell,

Where you’ll lose all that you have, especially that precious hand.

 

When they came down on me the first time, hands, one hand after another hand,

I knew that they belonged to some sanctimonious bastard.

I knew they were going straight to hell,

Along with that irrational need for dominance.

Committed on you in the afterlife will be the same sins,

And when god thinks you’ve had enough, I’ll say “You’re thinking about stopping? Don’t.”

 

You’ll beg and plead, not to god but to me, “please don’t.”

You’ll try to promise, “I’ll never raise another hand.”

You’ll ask for forgiveness for all your sins.

But none of it will change the fact that you were a sanctimonious bastard. None of it will change the fact that you would do anything for dominance. And none of it will change the fact that you belong in hell.

 

“Hell,”

I want you to rot there, even though you don’t.

“Dominance,”

I want it ripped away from you, like that hand.

“Sanctimonious bastard,”

I want you to suffer the wrath of the name and the wrath of your sins.

 

Your yearning for dominance led you down a path of paternal sins.

Fathers don’t deserve the name, but you do—you sanctimonious bastard. Deep down, you know hell is the only place for you and your hand.