Waiting for a Son

By Lynn Ockersz

The months relentlessly turn into years,

The flame of devotion on the humble altar,

By the day loses its brightness,

But the son is yet to come back home,

And the waiting parents’ brooding sadness,

Drifts dangerously into mental disorder,

But not a swear word do they utter,

On recalling how their son of promise,

Was hustled away into the inky darkness,

For, vengeance, they know, is not theirs;

And guilt, moreover, becomes a Millstone,

That weighs the wrong-doer down.