RIDDANCE

 

RIDDANCE

 

 

Open my wounded heart suffered,

Astonished own blood, gone toxic,

Wish for desperately once prayed,

Begged, just begged all merciful a child,

Graced not once four times a son,

Felt like the luckiest person in the world,

Happiness knows no bounds, turns to pride,

Hailed infinite blessings of the Lord, gifts,

Unparallel gift children precious,

Grew in my lap, loving care nourished,

Happiest husband duly recognize her,

Never did she like to display a lucky mother,

Her trust is in Lord, devoted extreme,

Still praying day and night alone,

Keep my children safe and sound,

Make them prosperous, give them long life,

Every ceremony with cakes sweet plenty,

A separate rook for idols to worship,

The bell rings in the morning and evening,

Perfumed scented-sticks oil lamp lit,

Hours of divine prayers read faithfully,

Prostate before idol tearfully begs,

Saw these rituals for decades, loved,

Lord has given to me four sons admit,

Love the Unseen, love more my wife,

Mother of four siblings fortunate,

Pious heart loving capable for home,

Her maintenance, majestic decorum,

Never demanding have seen for gold,

For travel or pilgrimage, food, cloth,

Only she needs items for worship,

Dress for boys, groceries she cooks,

Roars filled bedrooms with a loud noise,

Her action often angry teacher a stick,

Checks each bag, homework neatly,

Keep my glass, look at them and her,

Surround her, demand delicious dishes,

Surprised, she meets all of their demand,

Grew so soon, watch graying hair,

Finished college education leaving,

One by one left, children for careers,

In the twilight years, husband and wife stay,

Talk to each other, her interest letter,

I steal my glances less speak interest,

Nonchalantly ask their messages,

Happy children are well-settled families,

Stay in far-off cities, my wife homesick,

Her happiness in her home, the idols room,

No cinema or park, theater do interest,

Only interests my timing of food medicine,

Wash my clothes, irons a must, white,

My beetles in a box, glass on a table,

Inks a life story revolves around my wife,

Her son and children speak like that,

Love immensely, mother call frequently,

In her seventies, I found her illness,

A rare but long sickness, and passed away,

It was so sudden, changed me to clay,

Socked shook me to mute dumb and deaf,

Preferred silence, seclusion, less talk,

Presumed hard-of-hearing children taking,

Discussing in the adjacent room on me,

Sunned to know they planned to execute,

To leave me at the elder's home,

To dispose of all properties, my home,

Distribute the money equally,

Give some money to the shelter home,

The next day they all left, together the plan,

Come New Year, by January, it will be done,

Now the house is empty, stood me in silence,

Life, what a life, how was the life,

Good riddance now, remorse I prayed to God,

O' life, so mysterious, riddance is absurd.

 

Pen: Bijayananda Mishra

Title of Poem: Riddance (Fiction)

Theme: A good riddance, old dad

Date: 30th December 2022, Cuttack

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