By Antara Sen
The tired man sits alone
In one of twenty cubicles
His back is hunched, his desk groans
Beneath files and books and articles
Caged within the walls of fate
The window is his only reprieve
Here he writes a love sonnet
A moment of peace, a chance to breathe
Today, the afternoon lingers longer
The call upstairs, the snarling face
The shaking fist, the pointed fingers
Another job lost, a fall from grace
As twilight unfurls its lonely hues
His shoulders drooped, the man walks home
His only daughter, his favorite muse
Knows not of the approaching storm
Into the shadows he retreats
Please don’t leave me, his daughter implores
She bears witness to his defeat
And the gentle click of a closing door
Her father, her hero, brought to his knees
By a world she could not comprehend
Her innocence lost at thirteen
Her lifetime spent in making amends