Poetry

The Curse Called Father

The man that has erred without guilt
The strayed innocent soul
He who is drunk on the sea beside the valley of death begging to be redeemed
He is a father, who shall harken to his cry?
The soul whose agony is become the air without which the heart will cease

Behold he that is called a father
The nation rests on his shoulders and the weight of the populace’s sin he bears with joy and pain
Call him a father for he has absorbed the fiery darts of the wicked which was meant for whom they said he cares for
He is a father indeed because his creator has cursed him and has taken away his inheritance and serve them to dogs

His cries are real
His wails and agony are far less than the yoke upon his shoulders
He still absorbs them
Whom shall he even tell?
He is a father!

His feet know not much strength but the horsemen trusted them to lead the pathway to war
He has been bethrew even in his greatest attempts of righteousness
His maker has refused to restore his soul
He wanders with burden
Even with people’s load of care
He is a father
Whom shall he tell?

Beauty of many forms has taken to their heels upon his appearance
His tent is made with thorns
The city has made him marry wrath
With his sweat and tears has they demanded him to nourish his own

His field is cursed
The rain has ceased to fall on his field
The fowls of air have turned his garden into place of feast
His endeavour is turned into pains
Even after all his supplications and entreaty to his maker!

He is a father who will bear all
He is a father who will endure all pain with joy
He is a father who will one day rise to rule
He is a father who will one day turn his curse to power and authority.
He is a Father!

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