From An Old Home

Wrote a mother to her child:
Why do you say, I don’t understand,
I’ve brought you all way braving,
The scorching sun and blistering sand.

I have heard your heartbeats,
When none could see you in me,
I have felt your heartbeats,
Whenever you have felt lonely.

Oh! my darling sapling,
I’ve nurtured you with love and care,
It’s I who fed and covered you,
Made you sweet, plump, and fair.

Now that you are out of me,
Having gained your individuality,
It pains me to know that,
Between us, there’s no compatibility.

Your ‘say’; your ‘way’; you want,
For me you don’t have any space,
Remembering your innocent kisses,
I want one kiss on my wrinkled face.

Life has become a steeple-chase,
Each steeple higher than the other,
You have a job, a family and friends,
But why have you forgotten your mother.

Far away from you, I pass my days,
Helplessly looking out of the window,
I see a happy world outside,
Of which I was a part, long, long ago.

My vision fades, my limbs trembles,
I have really become sick and old,
I miss my medicines, or skip a dinner
Just because it’s stale and cold.

I want to repeat my childhood,
In my grandchildren, I wish to re-grow,
My sunset is gradually darkening,
Take me home, I want to go,
Take me home, I want to go.
Take me home, I want to go.


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