The Unsaid Truth Beneath The Cover. Poem by Subrata Ray

Mother! Mother, Cried the daughter,
How bohemians are your flirting others,
Since my first visit after twenty years,
I am free from confusions and fears,
All moral teaching and Church-laws,
Seem baseless fabric and social flaws.

The mother smiled and nodded her head,
We are made for sharing changing beds,
Flowers never dispute to bees of any race,
And river opens herself for bath to any face.

Yes mom, yes mom, the mystery I understand,
Men though are polygamous, are never banned.
Again, Nature allows no suppression of desire,
The joy of life lies in igniting the fire.

But more than instinct, the woman's liberty stands,
She is the maker and dreamer of man, history demands.