Pradip Chattopadhyay

(28.01.1961 / Kolkata)

Father and Son


From gone by years remembered in tears a tale more sweet than sad
Of a stealthy game that brought no shame played by a son with his dad
It's still a secret not told to this date he keeps to his breast the son
Still haunts his thought if he was caught by his dad long since gone.

The dad was old had a heart of gold used to spend money his own
Deemed it fair as long as there wouldn't be a burden on his son
He lived on pension but felt no tension in his frequent buying spree
Got whatever caught his whim’s fancy gifted them to the family.

We don't need as such why spend so much the son would remonstrate
Your extravagance has spoiled all chance for any savings till date
At this age on life's last page I need to spend the last dime
Live in rapport with warmth of comfort till I exhaust my time.

When failed all logic performed one trick the son played out a farce
Many times not once whenever got chance secretly filled up dad's purse
The old man went on to buy for his son ignoring his advice of thrift
The son on his part did what said his heart boosted the old one's spirit.

It was summer was time to go home, the dad took leave of his son
For all the nine months he stayed in the hills lived a monk’s life alone
A few days later over a phone call the dad spoke son when I count
I find in my purse what I carried intact in fact a little more amount.

The son feigned surprise deemed it wise the truth not be told
Lest he came apart his pride felt hurt the man with the heart of gold
He said in humor’s voice it’s cause for rejoice that money spent is grown
To this day the son guards the truth alone never making what happened be known.

Submitted: Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, February 18, 2014

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