Sreeram Vasudevan


For My Son

Lo, The light of the extraordinary brilliance,
Cast its warmth upon me,
I, the son of a pauper,
drenched in my own misery,
Waited for the right moment,
arrival marked by celebrations,
Kins and foes dining on the same platter,
Here and there, greetings and felicitations,
A genteel warm voice, a 'melodious' cry,

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