To a son abroad

To a son abroad

To another Columbus,

Who has left home

And gone abroad,

To re-script an old narrative

Of tired life, and higher aspirations;

In my ageing heart

But young thoughts,

You are there, dear Sparsh---

The only constant,

In a changing world,

You stay on like the

Fragrance of the

First Sparsh (Touch)

When I took you in my arms,

In the dim hospital ward,

After your cheerful arrival,

In a worn-out world,

And you had smiled at a

Loner, a loser, at that tender moment,

Much maligned that time,

And, still maligned by others,

Your struggling father,

Who is still battling the odds,

Of the beleaguered middle class,

As we all do, and become better or worse,

Depending on our destiny,

Revealed through circumstance,

Hostile or friendly,

But the moments spent with you,

Dear Sparsh,

Your lovely, manly company,

Your sweet smile,

And His Presence,

---Again I sound typical middle class but I do not care a bit

About such frivolous criticism--

Revive me daily in my wars.

Go,  go ahead,

My son,

Conquer new

Territories of the

Mindscape,

Where all the

Wars/battles

Are daily staged

And finally,

Won by the determined.

May God bless you and all.

(Inspired by your FB profile picture)