M.D Dinesh Nair
THUS HE SPAKE
The mother and her son
Sat together that morn
On a cot made of rope and wood
That was his cradle old and good.
Then he saw that her eyes otherwise right
Were now wet with tears new and bright
For reasons strange to him
She let out her grief up to her brim.
She was burning inside with flames tall
And she was dejected more than usual after a fall
The son fixed his eyes dear and keen
On her face now a sea of ripples seen.
She had her past memories now bee lining
In her mind that had none of streamlining
Her man was now gone for five years
And she was often thrown into gloom and tears.
The son now raised his head and spoke to her in a tone sweet,
'Mother, you are now the second most beautiful woman on earth'.
His mother beheld him with curios eyes and a heart in beat
Quizzing who could her rival be in the world or the hearth.
Her son now kissed on her cheek still wet but less
And his glow in the eyes spread to hers too nevertheless
She held him close to her bosom and then he spake thus
'Mother, you are the most beautiful when you smile like this'.
The mother and her son
Sat together for an hour and saw the sun soar
On a sky that had streaks of dark clouds now beaten
They both saw the might of a life not much laden.
She had her smile pervading for the rest of the day
Her man had once told her that she had a face like the rose
And she looked at her son and saw him sleep and lay
On the cot that was his father`s long before the close.
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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