It was my disobedience
That lost paradise for man.
Eking out a meagre living
By the sweat of my brow,
Raising my bitter harvests
From a harsh and thorny land,
After a lifetime of regret,
I’m still to fully comprehend
Why God asked me not to eat
The fruit of that one tree.
Condemned to be a wanderer
With a mark on my forehead,
I’ve escaped rather lightly
For so unspeakable a crime.
My brother’s blood calling out
For ever to the high heavens,
With no hope of redemption,
And no alibis for mitigation,
I keep asking myself over and over,
How did my offering to God fall short.
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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