Father’s Wife
My father worked a day and night with reason,
Telling his wife not to hurt any of his efforts.
Yet the burden of the work was higher every day,
Barely spent in happiness, but only miserable.
And so he pained my mother until he dropped,
With violent sound her head smashed forever.
May living live and I die, forcing the mayor to resign
Over my father’s wife.
The murders are brutal actions,
With so much force and blunder
That murder is a quest of the cruel ones,
Those emptying their callous blood onto others.
The living mothers join hands
Whilst the dying fathers rejoice!
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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