Born under the feast day of St. Joseph,
I saw the possibility of being a father.
Yet a bitter memory recurs every time-
the tainted blood unfit to the society
flowing in the letters of my surname.
Now I see the vast differences.
He took care of a Son despite its blessed origin
while my father never know how to raise me.
He helped his Son in building his character
while my father made a big crack in my soul.
He loved his immaculate Wife without malice
while my father took my mother’s blessed wings.
I cursed myself,
before troubled waters and raging skies
that I will stop the cycle.
The blood will remain in my system
till the death of mine.
As I reach another dimension
and see the alternate ending-
a newborn child, my son-
I will carry him on my arms
and whisper in his tiny ears,
“For me to save your soul,
I decided not to make you
in the conundrums of the earth.”