The Legacy Poem by Satarupa Rudrapal

A tiny voice born amidst the wilderness
Of passion and recklessness.
Too new to be loved,
Yet, not old enough to be forgotten.
A legacy of some shared moments,
Of ecstasy and carelessness.
Not much bothered about,
Till, it becomes a social obligation.
Then it is secretly plucked and thrown away.

The soft cries of lamentation are
Not for You- you unborn and unloved being,
But it is for the unnecessary anxiety,
And the loss of paper currency.
Which could have been avoided by
Just some metal currency.
But in the dead of night,
whose voice is it that comes to ask -
“ Mama, how could You? ”