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.



















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