The IT guy
Quarter past twelve, I walk in my own house like a thief, Slowly eat whatever I find on the dining table, Slip into my bed, Cautious not to wake my wife, Fast asleep like a little angel. It has been ages, Since I saw her awake in the nights, My new born hardly sees my face on weekdays, Many a weekend I refused to put him down, For the next five days I wouldn’t get a chance, To hold God’s gift to my heart. In my fear, To hold my job for my family, Eighteen hours of work a day, Sleepless nights, Rat race with my own friends, What a life I live. Yes, I earn more, More than my teacher father, Artist brother and house wife sister, But, I could never earn their life’s satisfaction, They call me the IT guy.