Why estranged be, a maker’s creed
To love’s liaison, and rites of ruth
If man is, dispassion, decreed
Then cradles how, he mother’s truth!
Who bears the millstone, of prudence
And swills the sin, of worldliness
What a father earns, at man’s expense
Flawed mother, in manhood’s duress!
He holds tempest, in a placid soul
And a flood of tears, in heart’s rampart
Who’d lavish life, on the dole?
But a father, who’s split worlds apart!
Whose sweaty finger, I clenched on
Whose forbearance, love’s metaphor
Though seems to be, that man, far gone
Lives on, in me, My Father’s Lore!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra