He is ill, I hear, terminally
I rush up from a far city
To be with the fading body
For the aroma churned
By a life hard earned.
He is ill, I hear, terminally.
I ease his shock of torpid times
Disintegration, morbid mimes
Reflecting on his limpidity
The seer he was, witnessing
Disturbed nights we pass on scriptures.
It then happened in quick succession
Withdrawal, his death, cremation
Shallow heirs descend, pose weird
Eye on old man's assets meagre
Discreet, broaching soft claims
Illiberal, open, coveting strange
The set - to, brawl and brouhaha.
The woman faints of the thunderclap
Men she'd nurtured on love and care
Now at her very remnants
As enemies sworn, pitched against
In sub human ways, mindless.
The game's foiled though with much wit
Calibrated drama, deliberately knit
Saddened, thankful, still at the crease
In space secured, rejuvenating in peace
Mother and I - two in rally
Devoted, succouring happily.
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