The Failed Son

Memories vague but painful.

Drifting and gliding

As my steps numbered 

A smell pierced my nose

Which now seemed so welcoming

So comfortable so homely

But once that seemed to 

Disgust and embarrass me

My wife, my children.

The fragrance 

Of their dying skin

Of their withering selves

Of their phlegm and piss

Still lingering and circling 

Around the room 

That never deserved them

That witnessed their last days

The dying days if my parents.

Old and helpless they were 

Young and active they were once

Never did they fail me

But times so numerous 

I failed them over and over 

My arrogance my pride my self

Failing them, failing me..

I stood with nothing but remorse

Before the old age so called 'home'.

- Rizvi Saif