A Widow Poem by Ajit Das

Those were happy days of family bliss:
son well-settled, daughter married off,
his pension enough to see us through.

Suddenly he fell ill; diagnosed positive.
All his savings vanished on treatment;
but drugs, therapy to no avail, he died.

Heartbreaking time: life without him.
I was frail, needing care; none around,
so my son took me away to his abode.

I began, trying to be busy, helping a bit;
but I didn't know when, unwittingly,
I stepped into managing the daily chores.

I noticed the feeling of affection slowly
yielding to a lack of genuine concern;
my failing health seemed to be a burden.

The son took me to an old age home,
left me there, saying that he had made
all arrangements for my future care.

I'm now abandoned, living in darkness,
praying for salvation from the cycle
of birth, rebirth in this impersonal world.