National Poem Writing Month 2021: Poem viii: Father

A constellation and full moon was it when I born.

Astrologer dictate me a lucky totem for my parents.

Before the year end my father lost his job the day

My mother died of the unknown disease embracing the town.

A year he was newspaper man in morning and

Toy and doll seller in the evening.

Next year he was the teacher at the local school.

A couple of years we were happy then he lost his job

Like many others in the town.

Lots return from the city and join us in the queue of ration.

The night was chilly one; we take the path by the lake.

I was hungry and tired of surpassing it.

The fog was rising as we stroll, drag, and walk.

Father looks like the night Mother died when

He holds the pillow over her fair flowery face.

His face was sad but happy; eyes still like that of dead fish.

He stopped and whispered, “I’m sending you away.”

I asked “Where?” as he picked me up and

Threw me to the water.

By Sangbad

A poet, an author, a reviewer--in one word I'm a literaturist (means one who is trying almost everything that Literature is made of). My books are available at Amazon. I'm a Bengali, born and raised in Kolkata, West Bengal.

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