ARITRA SENThe birds remember your birth,They chirped as you cried,Cradled in you mother arms,Arms that were made out of love,Unadulterated love made purer by the day.Built up on love,Brewed with honor and respect of old,Fairness in all respects,The tradition, morals profound.
That feeling of walking hand in hand with your parents,On that full moon night, a soft breeze kissing you like butter,Those smiles and laughs, memories that make you weak.Nostalgic? Oh no, no! Much more,That is love my dear,Love given a physical form,-Smiles, touch, laughter, protection,-Above all the feeling of home.
Move forward to 25,A girl by your arms,On that night lit by stars,Discussing the dreams that you grew up with,A bird chirping, probably an off-spring;That tradition continues.
Now 30,A creation of God, a baby brings smiles,A marriage made of silk and honey;The kisses and the tears and the baby,Dreams and pictures flash before your eyes.
The kid grows fast,Time for school, college and he repeats the teachings;A life of memories now turn 50;A movie from the old times;The wife who stayed by you,Parents who stayed as a reminder of golden musings;-Life goes on, you 70, the wife gone,-Son marries , has a daughter now, A grandpa now in tears.
The kid successful now, the perfect gentleman in every way,Sings a song on the piano,The crowd claps,You in a wheelchair,A tear trickles down;The old heart prances like a colt.
Push to 90,They gather about you,The son now bald, the grandson in college;Wires and in clothes you don't recognize;Memories blurry,People look sad,Yes the time has come.But happiness comes on you as a shroud,The shroud's black,Yet so calm,The bird on the window chirps on,-Your story- the flashback goes on and on and on........
