My Father, Who Art In Hell Poem by Rohan Sen

I still remember,
ten years to the day,
A winter evening, devoid of hope,
You went out on an errand..
to never return, so apparent.

Mothet did not cry that day father,
for she always hoped,
like your usual binges,
you will be back,
but I had seen you pack,
your prized possession,
a bottle tucked under your arm.

Ten years ago, I left college
and supported alone,
this family of four,
now needing more,
than just hopes to fill the sorrow,
Of the merciless, unforgiving tomorrow.

Your father..so ashamed..of You,
running out on all those who cared
for him, and so he spared
me further burden, announced before his end,
he had neglected the cancer inside, to amend,
his son..and by dawn,
comforted by my steady hand..he moved on.

You will not differentiate if ever you came,
from the shared blinding shame,
mother and grandma are now splitting images,
of the same burden.
Innocent heart, Convalescent soul, Seeking pardon,
for a crime you committed,
as to their force you submitted

My little brother, now eighteen,
has vials and needles,
and unexlained moneys,
that I ignore and hope,
his future holds more light,
than all i could fight,
and get for him,
as we were growing up.
I see in him trends I saw in you..
I lie in wait for the day he shall run away too.

If you ask Me today,
what have 'I' done?
I shall say, Inconsequential...
But I have all these years kept the family together..
When you left they had no food on the table,
I worked, not for them, but because I was able

Today, I hear, after a decade,
that you ran to the next state and got killed,
while my and your mother,
sing paens to comfort each other,
I feel no remorse,
I believe on that fateful day..
You gave in, Oh father! You ran away!

He who fights and runs away..
Lives to fight another day,
and what of He...
Who never returns to fight again?