-
Subhagata
Goswami
I
stumbled into my home,
Reeking
of the stench,
Of
drunkenness,
My
entrails over spilling,
Out
of disgust, that my body,
Has
put me through.
But
I surpassed,
The
screams of my mother's silence,
Her
eyes,
Blurred
underneath the horrors,
Of
her unfulfilled expectations.
With
every grain of time's,
Unstoppable
sands,
She
wakes past nights,
And
toils through her hunger,
To
be with me,
Through
my fevers and fears,
And
my pointless addictions,
I
could never be,
The
child of your dreams, mother dearest,
You
deserve far, far greater galaxies,
Than
my fits of anger, angst and rage,
Directed
uselessly at your harmless soul.
At
some end, before the sandy trickle,
Of
your hour glass stops.
I
shall strive to blossom,
In
your garden of everlasting love,
Where
all this while,
I
became nothing less,
Than
a parasitical weed of contempt.
For
those who feel unrequited,
As
you hold the lover's pen,
Go
ahead,
And
throw a glance,
At
your mother's fading eyes,
And
the wrinkles on her tired forehead.
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