The Sins of the Father

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I was vulnerable,

A child.

Too damn young,

To deal with the hate,

And the slurs,

The looks,

The sneers,

That should have been for you.

 

Sitting in your high house,

With your beauty pageant wife,

And the required two point zero perfect kids,

Who would never know want,

Or sorrow,

Or bleak despair.

 

While me and my mother,

We exist day to day,

Her bitterness my food,

My drink her tears,

In the hovel at the end of the street,

Away from you,

But never far enough.

 

I didn’t even know

I was different,

Despised,

Till I was eight,

Wanting to play ball,

With the other kids,

Wanting to smile.

 

Along came the mothers,

Pulling their children with them,

Into houses with closed blinds,

And judging eyes that followed,

Me as I walked home,

Confused and hurt.

 

I heard the word then more often,

In the corridors of school,

At the store where Mama

Sent me to buy the cheapest brands,

When I crossed people in the street,

Walking alone,

Always alone.

 

That word, my name,

The only thing they call me,

Because of you,

And your selfishness,

Because of my Mama,

And her blind trust,

Because that’s just how the world works.

 

The sins of the father

Shall be the sins of the son,

And I pay everyday,

In this prison of a town,

For the sin of the weak man,

Who holds power over,

A woman who dared to dream,

Of fairy tales.

 

I see your eyes in the mirror,

Every morning of each dismal day,

Your eyes that dart away,

If they see me by chance,

Your children oblivious,

Your wife’s lips grow tight,

I may just as well,

Be invisible.

 

But I’m less than invisible aren’t I?

As the town judges me,

And my beautiful broken mother,

Who can’t leave this prison,

Because you destroyed her life,

And tie the remains to this hell,

With your thrice accursed money.

 

I’ll get out soon,

And take her with me,

To new places,

New faces,

That won’t know my name.

 

But I’ll always remember it,

Each time I see your eyes in the mirror,

And I’ll whisper it slowly,

To remind myself.

 

The sins of the father,

Shall be the sins of the son.

Even if that son’s name

Is bastard.

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About saharsalman

Aspiring poet. Spectator of life. Words of Whim.
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4 Responses to The Sins of the Father

  1. Yasmin Elahi says:

    Uffff!! Heart touching! You have written this so beautifully that I Could easily relate to the innocent son of the sinner father!!

  2. Sean King says:

    Amazingly written, and powerful. You are gifted.

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