A DIALOGUE
BETWEEN ME AND MY OLD MOTHER
Oh! With a
bending brow
A wavering waist
Faltering feet
On an unsteady walking stick
Wades thru the
airy water daily my Mother slow
Taking no rest
To her morning
chores meet
Never letting her
self-esteem leak!
I often lose my
cool and sensitive temper
I, like
inflammable fuel, fume and fire:
“Why don’t you
sleep on the bed a little longer
Why do you always
wake up,the Sun winks before
Why do you always think yourself a lady of twenty four
Why don’t you ever
take our help and favour
Why do you do at
such a fag end so much labour
Why do you always
flow ceaselessly as a perennial River?”
She retorts with
a low but confident voice:
“Son, let me
fight myself, until comes to an end life’s Race
It matters me
little even if has slowed down my usual pace
Being dependent is indeed mean, lowly and base
Being at one’s
mercy is worse even than death
Let me not be a
Parasite until my last breath
Let me not be a
seeker of support till I inhale
For, I have to, all
alone, the Mundane Everest scale
Let my Virtues be
my succor to jump off the worldly hell
Let my honest
Duty be my Oar to pass the Pacific and safely sail!”
Glossary:
Fume and fire - get angry
Retorts - replies
angrily and quickly
©Shankar D Mishra
25.11.2017
Blog:
sdmpoetry.blogspot.com
My blog contains
186 poems till date.
E-mail:
shankardmishrapoet@mail.com
WhatsApp no. 08270604524
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