Old Parents Are Our Second God
It was the early Sunday morning
And I heard a call from the gate.
When I asked her to come inside,
I saw an old woman and her mate.
They did not look like usual beggars
And they told me a painful story:
They had a home, land and kids.
They were living a life of glory.
When their kids grew young and wealthy
And married wicked modern dolls.
The two oldies were declared useless
And thrown out of the home walls.
Their tears were faster than their words
And that made my manly eyes wet.
I kissed the hands of those dethroned Gods
Who were due to their creation upset.
'Old Parents' are our second God
And Old parents are always right.
Their pain is the pain of God Almighty.
And their happiness is His delight.
We must tolerate our old parents
As they did when we were babies.
We must not throw them out of homes
To please our sweet tongued wicked ladies.
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
We can replace our wives and husbands with other people but our parents are irreplaceable.