bestowed upon the dismayed, the name; comfort.
Mother!, could you envisage the impending irony,
the turmoil to come?
a brazen tyrant called love?
the cascade of your tears ripples my blood
while angst calls ever so louder,
does dad measure doom by your doorstep?
does he slowly conjure your quietus in steady fashion?
but you are the camels back,
bursting with a hump of tenacity,
and the hate exuded; unlocked the door to life,
as fate devised his paradox.
Its morning again; the sun shines to you,
as the birds chirps their hallelujahs’
and the breeze bellows your face,
now finally comfort has come.