Mother

MOTHER (Terza rima) How come a dove got a savage hawk as heir? ! That spacious roost she built with love and zeal became alas a wicked Griffin's lair! For weeping child, she hushed her sleep, skipped meal and pressing paining knees she strolled along the room, endorsing your bewailing spiel! When lisped you alphabets with puerile twang, till tears salted her cheeks, she laughed aloud! Now 'thanklessness' is just one word you sang! When taught you maths; daydreamed that mother proud, of scientists great, Kalam, Newton and! You loathed to add and to subtract avowed! She's eighty now, or more, senile and lean, no more useful for toil; a spent Godhead; a barren field that yields to grain to glean! You thought her burden, pain and pest! She read your heart as Mother could; your meanest bid! That's when she felt that home a thorny bed. She's begging now in streets...O ruthless kid! If not a happy home, a slim refuge can do! ! Find her some old age home, as your best quid!