The Letter

a poem by Debashish Chattopadhyay, India

My child,how are you?
The white-haired is quite well
Only my husband's cottage
Makes my heart throbbing.

When he was on the other side of life
You were of nineteen days,I was nineteen.
Motherly affection strangles the youth
To protect the son from hell-fire.

The bricks of this old-age house is cruel
It stores the old-love like gold-keeper
That mud-hut is my heart
And yoye father's dream-cottage.

I don't want this pleasure-house
I want to have my home back.
I don't want 'painful pleasure'
I want pleasurable pain.

You are the only reason of my living,dear
I am weak like your nineteen days daughter
I have a wish to play with her!
Tell Jiban secretly-
"Your grandma is perfectly fine".
© Debasish

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