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.
