Homage to his old lady, Lakshmi.

Long back, lived a lady aged ninety

And her maternal great grand son.

He loved her; she loved him.

No one loved him that much.

No one he loved that much.

At her age, no purpose for such love.

At his age, no reason for such love.

She was poor, alone, living away.

He knows her as sunken, skinny, utter black,

With so much love, with no one to share with,

With no one to tend or care her.

She had unfailing power of reciting

Mile long mythological verses

That she got by hearing and not reading.

Herself starving, she took pain

To have come to him to feed him

With poorly made cakes and snacks.

She reproduced many, who, in turn, many, who, in turn, many.

None came by when she went insane.

He never saw her first son’s son

Ever see, love or care her at any stage,

With her eldest son dead young.

And with no respite with her youngest son,

Who was the constant tormentor.

She had a sad death, a miserable death.

Even now, after half a century,

He pities her, mourns her death.

Even now, he weeps for her.

Long live her parental grand children,

None of whom is in prosperity,

19.04.2001

[Her grandson by son at fifty died in Sept., 2008,

Survived by a son and a daughter]