All Are My Sons

The blazing hot sun sending rains Of fire, ready to turn the heart of The earth into a burning cinder None was visible upto far Except a very old woman With lean body and shivering hands In the shade of a tree With an earthen pitcher full of water Waiting for the passers by Derived by itching thirst And serving them with the life giving Cold water A few passed through that way But in that wait she felt gay Suddenly she saw at some length A young man approaching Startled she As if awakened from the sleep Quickly hid her wrinkled face With her old saree’s veil The young man stopped there She with her hidden face Quenched his thirst He felt enrich his soul With deep satisfaction and obligation Wanted to say some words of thanks But her words could not come out Started to step ahead But a hot dusty gust of wind Removed away the veil of the old woman ‘O My God!’ Cried the young man ‘There is no place I did not search for you, My Mother Why, Why, You abandoned us From your loving nectar Please come with me We all miss your affectionate glee’ The mother replied in a stable tone ‘When I was with you, nobody cared me, none’ ‘But here I have come to know That the whole world is my son You may miss your mother But I have plenty of sons’ And saying so, she again hid her face