The Spillage

I came to know of a story centuries ago,
Of a man who was rebellious and oddly defiant,
Another's responsibility he was forced to inherit,
By rules and societal pressure, by laws and tradition.

When the eldest died, he was second to receive,
The responsibility the community expected him to fulfill,
Burdened by the thought of having someone elses wife to be his,
Burdened by the thought of being a man whose wish he cannot commit.

For reasons that a man has the right to choose,
Whoever he wants to build his home and reproduce with,
Whomsoever he may wish to share his bed with,
He might have dreamt of a fine, free woman or maybe someone same as he.

A man who must have been free for some years more,
Took over the pressure to multiply and reproduce more.
For the widow without a son or to have no one,
Will end up having no home and beg for money until her time runs out.

But the defiant man who may have not thought much about her,
Took her to bed and copulated with her,
Then spilled the seeds and wiping them to waste,
The opportunity to giving the woman her hope and her desire to bear future children.

The man was seen as wicked by many,
Believed to have been punished and terminated,
By the highest one who was not pleased,
By his actions and his thoughts of leaving out someone in the streets.

Maybe the story have led many to believe,
That pleasing oneself is both crime and a sin,
For whatever happened to him centuries ago,
Maybe was more because of lust rather than self-stimulation, not merely of sexual satisfaction but maybe more on contemptuousness or going with the flow.