This simple,yet compelling poem is replete with nostalgia. I've tried a different rhyming scheme (abab instead of aabb).
A lullaby,just a lullaby,
During the 'years of yore',
Mellifluous voice of Mother, soft words,punctuated by an occasional sigh,
And we,kids then,kept on asking for more...
How she used to induce a sense of lull; How from her assortment of bedtime stories,
The best ones,she used to cull,
She suppressed her own sense of stupor, while over her stories,we used to mull,
We used to listen in rapt attention,
Hanging onto every word.
The choicest of words in intonation,
Together, she used to string,
Her prose was poetry in motion,
In her melodious voice,she used to sing.
Oh! How I wish those days come back,
But what has gone past,stays there,ne'er to return,
We are stuck here,alas! The past is a cul de sac,
We won't hear the stories which she used to churn...
Armed with the values she imparted,
The world,we can confront,
The test,that is life has just started,
All hurdles,away from us, we can shunt.
* * *
Note:A cul de sac is a road with a dead end. Until someone invents a time machine...the past is a cul de sac.
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Poems on Life
Poetry#13 as on 20/02/17 An anthology of poems. Eruption of the volcano containing the lava of my pent-up emotions. Splashes of it on a piece of paper. "The bottle containing the ink of thoughts is overflowing, I have no choice but to pen down those word...
