To a son abroad
To another Columbus,
Who has left home
And gone abroad,
To re-script an old narrative
Of tired life, and higher aspirations;
In my ageing heart
But young thoughts,
You are there, dear Sparsh—
The only constant,
In a changing world,
You stay on like the
Fragrance of the
First Sparsh (Touch)
When I took you in my arms,
In the dim hospital ward,
After your cheerful arrival,
In a worn-out world,
And you had smiled at a
Loner, a loser, at that tender moment,
Much maligned that time,
And, still maligned by others,
Your struggling father,
Who is still battling the odds,
Of the beleaguered middle class,
As we all do, and become better or worse,
Depending on our destiny,
Revealed through circumstance,
Hostile or friendly,
But the moments spent with you,
Dear Sparsh,
Your lovely, manly company,
Your sweet smile,
And His Presence,
—Again I sound typical middle class but I do not care a bit
About such frivolous criticism–
Revive me daily in my wars.
Go, go ahead,
My son,
Conquer new
Territories of the
Mindscape,
Where all the
Wars/battles
Are daily staged
And finally,
Won by the determined.
May God bless you and all.
(Inspired by your FB profile picture)
