SOBRIETY
He staggers home in the morning inebriated A whole IT graduate hurling profanities 'I asked you not to birth me' acclaims he Give me my share of your eighth inherited land. The mother cries herself to sleep many a nights A laughing stock made me you mine son Every day i beseech the gods to change you And your thirst for the bitter waters quench The father no more prides himself among men A village shame you became. He too hopes That the light you will see, and your ways change Your siblings say that they recognise you not. But thou knowest thy family loves you more And yearns for the day you will return to sobriety.