The Roles Are When Reversed Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

As the world's way deep with the life its own,
As few have much time for others to spare,
As people are plugged up, unto self prone,
I also was with me as ever ere.

I still saw, walking in, a bearded mom,
Young enough with some hint of greying hair
Tied in pony tail, pushing his son's pram,
His mother-like care showed no awkward air.

He took a table, his pram facing him,
And soon as settled down, ordered his beers,
His gaze not shifting from his pram-prone dream,
The babe asleep in peace, he perseveres.

Now reaching out to her with adored pat,
And then adjusting baby blanket there,
Perhaps needless altogether, I bet,
Yet, there was none an artificial air.

Plain decency, a dying odd pursuit,
Persuaded me to turn my eyes away,
I still stole glances at the scene so cute,
Comes indeed rare such a father today.

Reality might still him one day stare,
Say, some thirty odd years from this rare scene,
This very man might well be in wheelchair,
But, shall this bundle of love still be keen?

Would he look at his father with fond eyes?
Render same tender care taken granted?
We might find him withdrawn, cold, worldly wise,
Father awaiting death from lonely bed!

Old parents seem an unfair task to son,
That to parents was cherished privilege,
A truth defied until old age does rage,
All of us pass thru this awkward station.

Perhaps parents to theirs were fair the least,
Perchance, they failed to measure, or fell short,
May be, humans aught be like birds and beasts—
Raise the litter; let it thence leave the port.
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Musings | 01.12.10 |