Raskonlikov’s Confessions
It's a fanfic poem based on an imagined encounter between a character and the author. The figures in my poem are characters from crime and punishment and the author himself.
In a city called St. Petersburg with a needful community,
There lived an old man in a poor vicinity,
His father named him Dostoyevsky.
A mute homeless man, unnoticed by society,
He is invisible to the people of the city.
‘Hey, old man, do you want a cookie?
I have got you a pryaniki.'’
The old man looked up.
To see a young chap.
‘My name is Raskolnikov,
And you don’t seem to talk.
Don’t mind me, I'm here to vent.
All I need is an outlet.
For a painfully gnawing secret,
You are the kind of man I need.
For I am quite sure, a word you wouldn’t leak,
Thank God, he made you mute and meek,
Now hear me speak.'’
He paused to drink,
His Krupnik.
‘There is a woman I'm after,
I desperately need to slaughter.
In a gruesome manner,
I must destroy her.
All I can dream of is unavailing her.''
He put down his hip flask,
Into the old man’s dirty sack.
‘I have a question to ask,
Of course, you won't have to answer back.
Why is murder a crime?
They think to a soul it's grime,
What if it’s a tool to free?
An escape for the tortured soul to flee,
Alyona Ivanovna from this world must perish,
Or a breath I shall not cherish.
This damned pow broker,
Made a slave out of her own sister,
She hides her jewelry under her bed this sinister,
Poor Lizaveta, not a ruble is given to her,
Oh! Why God! From all these people and you chose her,
Can't you see? She is belittling these poor beings begging,
Oh! Why, God! It's your people, with your own blessing she is starving.’
In one of the coldest months, in January
Where in saint Petersburg, its always snowing,
Raskolnikov, in agony ,was sweating ,
The blue veins, on his forehead showing.
His knuckles he was cracking.
‘Now, I know what I will be doing,
Her head with an axe ,I will be slashing,
Her death is justified.
Why? Because of her, souls cried,
God needs an extraordinary man to address,
To give him the right to transgress.
And that extraordinary man is me.
I, Raskolnikov, the honor is bestowed upon me.
Now, if you will excuse me,
A grim ripper with an axe is calling me,
It's someone’s beheading time,
Here, take this ruble,
Thank you for giving me your time,
May the stars align and the moment arrive,
For your mouth beautiful words to chime.''
