The Years My Father Stared At Walls


“Job is, the art, of compromise
To barter soul, in, bread’s bargain”
I saw him, pay, every day, this price
Is measure, of a man, beyond his pain!

That day, he could not, see, eye to eye
As though, from funeral, of his friend
“How dare, a jobless man, defy,
Economics”, quailed, a man, round the bend!

“I’m still, the master, of my fief”
A man, affirmed, his hurt, esteem
We believed, in him, beyond belief
Who had, a whole world, to redeem!

He did find, job, not fortitude
He cherished, oft, in lost recalls
They left him, a, plaintive platitude
The Years, My Father, Stared At Walls!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra

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