Friday, 18 July 2014

Son can be a rival.




 

I taught my son lessons on singing

And made him with my sweats a great singer.

Sons’ glory is fathers’ glory.

His glory is my glory.

His wings spread and mine shrunk.

People thronged around him and spared me.

They didn’t say he was the great;

They said I was no where near him.

His glory is not my glory;

Sons’ glory is not fathers’ glory.

Can there be two heroes in a play?

Should he outlive me in the posterity?

He is my rival, no more a son.

11.02.2005

 

 

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