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.

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