Dad, I fear this vessel of milk is splitting: A poem 

I was locked in a dream, a consolate dream; 

that, though, you were lost to me in this lifetime, 

I thought I’d stumble upon you, somehow, in the 

alleys of time. As if in cavorting without a touted 

aspiration, I’d simply conjure up a fate! That, should  

you be in my arms, as my son again! The vainglory 

of this aspiration is all but in vain now, and my hoped 

for vehicle of love is no longer my recourse. Time is fleet, 

and is passing. My age is beyond 61; where does hope stand 

when I’m battling for my own survival against an overwhelming  

vilest treachery? That I have solemnly devoted my life for the cause  

of others, without asking for anything in return! Is my desire of  

begetting you only a misconstrued fantasy? Everything was an  

enigma in my life; falling in place only for sad realisations! 

I did not make much ado about the sacrifice I undertook! 

And I did not shed a tear! I am avowedly certain that I do not want 

the evil Left (Labor) or that creep Albanese to monopolise you, and transform  

my love for you into a demonism!  Nor do I want that evil deep sea to take  

hold of you! Nor do I want those creepy talons of Prakash Saint Paul to  

ransom you against me!!! So must I bequeath my love for you, or hope that  

it devolves into my own transmigrated hands, at some point in a future lifetime!