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.
Copyright © Harneet Singh | Year Posted 2017
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