The Day Of My Father's Death - Poem by Raghurama Raju
My father's body was there
Cool and stiff
Facing the main door!
Some mourners looked at me strangely
And said' His third son! '
People around were disappointed
They anticipated an outburst of grief!
But I couldn't cry!
I began to look at my father'still body intently
Dark complexion, blunt nose and deep voice- -
Those features shaped my person!
Even then it was difficult to cry
Those long, hairy hands
bathed my body in summer afternoons!
Those long and thin fingers
trained mine in learning alphabets
Those hair stubs tickled
my clildish cheeks!
Even then I failed to cry!
But I was supposed to cry at any cost
Then my mother called me to her side and said
'Your father loved the clothes you sent for the festival!
Whenever he wore them, he smoothed their surface
and felt your presence! '
Before she finished her words
I was crying uncontrollably
Like a little boy
For a snatched toy!
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