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Theme: Dedication Share This Page
For Mother Mithila
by Bhaskaranand Jha Bhaskar
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  My life is hijacked by
My own home minister
Who makes me dance
At her beck and call
In her petticoat government…

My time is not mine,
For it is patented by -
The Head of the people
With a sustaining amount
That makes me serve
At the door of the country…

Out of this life’s time
So mortgaged since long,
I do steal some of it
In a dishonest way
For some creations,
For some recreations.

Some time of it
I spare for myself
To vent out nothing
But the garbage of
Feelings and thoughts
In a refined way
From the dustbins
Of life's drudgery

Like one part of salary
A son sends home
To buy some medicines
For his ageing parents,
So do I but in a different way...

Some more time
A little bit of service
I do steal but use it
On nursing my mother
Mithila - lying since long
In a sickbed of oblivion!

And I feel blessed
And consoled as well
For she feels relieved,
By the balm of glorious fragments
That I search everywhere
In every nook and corner of history,
And I apply it on her forehead.

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July 06, 2012
More By: Bhaskaranand Jha Bhaskar
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