THE PRODIGAL SON
(БЛУДНЫЙ СЫН)
The
Famous Parable Continued By Alex Viktorov
The 1917 Socialist Revolution in
nearing its centennial in 2017.
The antiglobalization movement,
actually anticapitalist, is growing world over.
Three fourths of the world do
not seem to be willing
to live on $1 a day by 2015, as the UN report predicts...
And
2017. THE
PRODIGAL SON
LEAVES HOME
AGAIN
His comeback seems now to be made in vain,
And the prodigal son leaves home again.
In vain the fatted calf was for him slaughtered
-
He got only a snippet of it and a cup of water.
And the bulk was devoured
Less than in an hour
By those who were not prodigal any
And who had stayed at home to save every penny,
Who skin prodigal sons and daughters
Having taken them alongside with
calves to slaughter.
The prodigal son's father got stuffed to the
gills and preaches:
"Look, only at home you can find real
riches.
Together with you we can slaughter calves
twofold
Then skin them, sell skins and get tenfold in
gold.
What good is seeking other ways across life?
You had hardly half a cake a day - now you can
have five!
All our
folks will be glad:
Our business will thrive!
To our business you were dead,
And now you are back alive.
You've got a robe, a ring, and Le Monti shoes now.
All you must do, paying back, is to take a vow
That you stay and help me and your elder
brother
Market our calves,
In that business we'll go halves:
You'll get more shoes, rings, and robes
Provided you live up to our
hopes."
The elder brother came scowling and grinning:
«It seems to be paying - not working but
sinning:
Behold, a fatted calf has been killed in your
honor
And me - I am looked at as if I'm a
donor..."
But the father cut his elder son short:
"Stop seeing a mote in your brother's eye!
He is back to become yours and mine ward
To stop him for ever from saying
"good-bye"...
Well, I've had enough, 1 am tired and gonna couch...
But I don't want you to have a fight with your
brother,
I am too old now to organize you another...
Since for peace this night neither of you can
vouch
I'll put you, my prodigal boy, under lock and
key
In our guest room so I have a guarantee
That I find you alright tomorrow,
You have given me, quitting once, enough
sorrow..."
So the
prodigal son got accommodated,
But all familial cares now come to him belated.
He can't sleep because of his heartfelt battle:
No, he's unprepared to skin and sell cattle,
He'd left his home for a freedom's mock...
And then he heard someone tamper with the lock,
He heard a key-turning rattle
And he readied himself for a home battle.
He turned to face the comer - one or another,
And the comer came to be his elder brother,
Who smirked a grin: "Brother, now it's my sin.
You won't anyway bring any grist to our mill,
You have got your own flagpole to shin
Who knows, maybe one day you'll win...
So you may go or do as you will."
"Thank you, brother, I thank you for that
brotherly cup.
It was my error to have returned
To disturb you and our father and what you have
earned...
Now I have to go - the time is up
To see again plains and trees, and waters, and
birds,
And walk on, on and on
Along mountain paths and in all kind of dirts
To see in the very end The
“Okay, brother, you may go
To spare our family another woe...”
They parted without kiss,
And the prodigal son walked
Across the plain trying not to miss
The path to the East that people had talked
To be the path to the real bliss.
As he was just in the very start,
He heard a voice as if it was a dart:
“Stay,
brother, don't be that speedy!
Share your way with me, be not so greedy.
I want also to see plains and trees, and
waters, and birds,
To hear other nations talk, to learn foreign
words.”
The prodigal son delayed and waited
For his elder brother to join him.
They had never been indeed closely related
And he believed his elder brother's word just a
whim.
But the elder brother put his hand on the
younger one's shoulder
And they walked on and on, the younger and the
older...
The prodigal son's new history yet has not got
much renown.
Maybe you have seen the two brothers passing
thru your village or town?
By Alexander Viktorov
*The
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