Thursday, November 20, 2008


He earns hard and dies everyday
For a better tomorrow,in search of a happy day
With his children,
When he could spend time and play
He loves them so much
He knows at heart
But in the evening,when he returns
For the next morning's start
Totally exhausted
Not a trifle left in him
To share a moment or two
With his kith and kin
For the sake of his children
He works the whole day
To provide good food,education
And to keep all troubles at bay
For working so hard
His children are the cause
And this is the irony
Of his life because
He works every hour
To make his children happy
But they miss him every second
Which makes them unhappy...


EAGLES said...

thats right....watever u said is true

Dionysus said...

and that's the problem...dont you think this poem deserves more to be an article than be called a poem inflicting insult upon the name itself

Sharad Sharma said...

that was nice..well written.I liked the ending,especially