Son, I will carry you home.
The Etawah Government Hospital does not know
The extent of my love for you. You were born
In a poor family but we loved you.
When you were born I, your father,
Carried you so easily.
Blood of my blood, I was so proud
Not knowing that I, Udayveer,
Would have to carry you, Pushpendra,
On my shoulders, lifeless, to our home.
They said they were busy; nothing could be done.
Nobody asked me how I would take you home.
My son. My child. Come with me.
I will carry you home.
I will struggle, I will die
I will take you home so that
You can rest. That you may join the other realm
Of compassion real.
I am a poor man, my son.
I have laboured hard with sweat and tears.
But not even the richest father would have done
What I have just done.
Son, I will carry you home.
Copyright: Rani Turton
N.B: The lack of ambulances and hospitals in some Indian hospitals have led to the unbelievable situation of the very poor having to carry the bodies of their family members home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Rani Turton. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.