half filled dreams and shadow fights
man stops exhausted,
no rest house in sight
no welcome arches for the hero
returning from Trozan victories
to rest in his house he started from
recounting his honour and glory
and lamenting his failures and gloom.
But where is his Penelope
where Telemachus? Who will
soften his aches, balm wounds
and wash his grime with love?
Poor lonely man slows down
with languid steps for medicine
which none prescribes, none brings .
Ye children , men and women,
man is not exiled from life,
what he calls home, sweet home
his nest made after a tedious strife.
He is the priceless creation of God
take him in your arms, make his
last life a celebration, never
make him ashamed for having
raised a family for which he
sold his sweat and blood
the prize of a life's fitful pride.
Now is the time to give him love
take him to your soft bed and
listen his bright eyed tale
his heart aches and laughs
become a proud parent of your parents.
Sabita Sahu
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