When Blood Turns Bad

No more, I fear, for, my funeral
At the hands, of my, insolent son
Who, I nurtured, in my, dream’s cradle
Questions me, now, “Who lost, who won!”

“A father, must be, a, mere martyr
To the, whims, and wishes, of his kin!”
Whilst, I resent, every, sin-cere sin
I obligated, to my, faith and fear!

A “Stupid God”, I can’t, be, anymore
Crucified, each day, on my, passion’s cross
Fatherhood, is faith, not, fear’s metaphor
I mourn, no more, my son’s, love’s loss!

“A father, must give, and forgive”
I daresay, it’s, no more, the rule
Without any hope, I have, learnt to live
Since, my son found, my ethics, ‘old-school’!

“Son! You are, my, profound requiem –
To a, loving lad, who lost, his dad”
I heard, his silence, in, my scream
Are values, too, a changing fad
There’s, nothing more, left, to redeem
When, Blood Turns, Bad!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra

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