Poetry : My Son

                                           My Son

He refused to eat if asked

Even when hungry

He refused to sleep if asked

Even when drowsy

His innocent mind thought

          That `no’ was his weapon

      to draw the attention

     of the crowds

The inner him, refused to obey

He never understood why

He was shouted and abused

His big eyes looked marooned

He behaved as he thought was good

and was spanked

                why I thought

                          he behaved so

                was he a desperate child

                or a child who loved to be loved

                loved to the extent that elated him

Or was he a weak child

uncompromising, unadjustable

the inner weakness left him

boisterous but vacant

                He is the vision of my childhood

                unto him I see my past

                chided,scolded,nervous

                unto me I see his future

                dejected,desperate,loner

                yes he is a child,my child

-Pankaj Mala Bhattacharya