To His Son

Shayan's Sphere

He was so proud of his growing son
Climbing the stairs of life with grit,
And by thrashing the trammels of onerous run
Moving ahead through cold and heat.
“Dearest son, my valorous sword”,
Stated the ardent heart of Dad,
“Remember for aye my arduous words
To live a life with risen head.
For life is a strenuous boundless test,
The one where lasts is eternal gold;
And with a single triumph, a sole conquest,
A thousand masteries remain untold.
So stroll like brave and earn thy breads
With a colossal breast to learn and teach,
And weave thy name with golden threads
Where no hearts dare to plod nor reach.
But never follow a vicious mood,
Nor allow thyself in an odious crime;
Nay, pull someone for thy own good
In a stygian ditch which is hard to climb.
And never do whine for things thy lack,
Nor compare…

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