Whose Fathers Don’t Have Job … My Son …

The crow dances, on the, rusting roof
Poising his soul, on a, smoldering tin
No different, from a, man aloof
Searching a, living, in a world, of sin!

“When life, is reigned, by compromise
And bread, stinks, of a, staling dream
A household, pays the, punitive price
Of a, jobless father’s, self-esteem!”

“Son! Economics, of existence
Runs deeper, than, belief in bread
For the, sin of, social subsistence
Job is, no joy, sacrament, instead!”

“Never give up, faith, in his, fortitude
For the, fear of, social crucifixion
They take, in stride, fate’s vicissitude
Whose Fathers, Don’t Have Job…My Son…!”

© 2021 Vikas Chandra

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