In my father’s House

We were watching over the window,

For the rain was still dripping and oozing

Everything, outside the hut was rain socked

For that was the end of the dry season

Heralding a new beginning

For we had waited in anticipation for eternity

For the precious


Come, come, come the children sang,

Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain

Only if they knew, these songs were slowly but,

Painfully subdued by the echoes of the rains,

We had no food,

We had slept on empty stomachs,

We were now tired of begging,

To our neighbours,

Our hut was leaking,

Not only from the roof,

But even from sideways,

We thought father should have repaired it,

We had no paraffin to light a lamp,

We had ran out of matchsticks

To light the fire

Yet, we felt cold

But we were in our father’s house

Poverty was written all over

We wished we were born,

To a different father

In our father’s house