Where Fathers Battle With Their Sons

I’ll fire, at you, until, you fall
Since, you stand, by those, who razed, our home
And raped, your sisters, if you, still, recall
Myanmar, Junta’s, ethnic sin-drome!

It pained me, to, forget my son
Who chose, to be, Junta’s henchman
I dare, to say, how, yearns my gun
To prove, my fidelity, to my clan!

Who broke, our family, was it war
Or, present’s disrepair, and, future’s fear
Lest, a son, baptize, with his, father’s gore
Ethos, of a land, that turned, mutineer!

Democracy, was a sham-e, Junta, a gory game
Our nation’s, run, by, shenanig(u)ns
How, a holy hearth, hate’s home, became
Where Fathers, Battle, With Their Sons!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra

Leave a Reply