Be Sure Of It Mama, I'Ll Send You To An Old Age Home, A Modern-Age Son Lie I Herein Celebrating The Mother's Day Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

Be sure of it, mama,
I’ll send you to the old age home
As who look after you,
Nurse you,
As I a modern age son,
My flat too modern,
I am modern, she too is modern?

Be sure of it, mama,
I’ll send you to the old home,
Shall not keep you here anymore
Giving trouble to you
And you will live better there.

Don’t worry, be happy, mama,
I’m your son,
Here lie I in,
She may not be,
The other house girl,
She may not know your pains.

But I know them well
How you have made me grow up,
The troubles and sufferings of yours,
Mama,
I still love you, but what can I?

I’m alone, what can I,
As the times not in your favour,
Not in mine,
I passing life all alone in the flat of mine
As my thoughts adjust not with those of theirs?

We are not at fault,
The time is as such, the age is as such,
The life-conditions are so,
Making us learn so,
As they se, so do they.

Don’t worry, be happy, mama,
I am with you,
After all, you are my mama,
Dear mom,
How can I leave you, mama?

Weep you not
At the time of going,
You’ll feel well, mama,
As I do not want to see tears
Into the eyes of yours.

You give the pass-book and the pension-book
As they may take away
I’ll keep it up with me,
Whenever necessary, I’ll make the payment for,
Don’t worry, be happy,
Whenever urgent, I’ll spend on medicines.

On Sundays I’ll go to see you, meet you
And you’ll be able to see
Your daughter-in-law,
The grandson and the granddaughter,
I’ll go to meet you together with them, mama.

Be sure of it, mama, I’ll send you
To the old age home
To pass your time,
To lead a retired life
In the company of others
Of the same age group.

Don’t mind it, mama,
I’m modern, my wife is modern,
I’m busy, she is busy
And here who cares for whom,
In this age of busy, fast and active life
When there is not time to attend to?