Call of a Father, If the Son Hears

One winter morning, cold and cloudy A bird singing on the backyard tree Of an old age home paused suddenly To find a sobbing old man He put a curious query. “Why are you crying daddu? Tell me if I can help you.’” “Give this letter to Jeetu, my son. His address or details I know none.” The letter said “Dear Son, do you remember?” Along the fields in muddy water As we were riding on the cycle Your feet got stuck in the wheel No one around to stop the blood Fields were frightened by your squeal. Many fold increased my heartbeat Rushed towards the tubewell , washed your feet. My clothes got wet, my beard got wet Having a chocolate your mood got set Son, now these eyes are wet When – oh – when will you come To make them set. Every night when the door bell rang You woke till 10 to open the door. Jumping to hug a melody you sang “papa, kya laaye ho?”… and some more Son, now this heart is short of hugs I miss the melody ,I miss the song They aren’t there for so long Tearful was the bird’s face Flew to his mother, reported the case “Aren’t the parents gift of God ? How can humans think them load? Is this the wisdom humans got To leave their parents alone to Die of hunger, pain and sufferings In the last stages of the life road.” “They talk of heaven, They say it well. In old age homes their parents dwell. They have learnt to live, forgot to love. Empowered with money but lost the jewel.” They are destined to wither who depart from their source. If values were preserved, no old age homes of course.