Posted by: Ron DuBour | April 29, 2017

SON OF A RICH~by Balachandran Nair




For first time in my fifty years’ life
I feel proud, I am real son of a rich!
So far begging in front of Church on Sunday,
Mosque on Friday, other Temples other days,
I reaped rich, richer than most of you, dears.
All these years I always used to
Hate my Amma who heartlessly dared to
Leave me in street dust bin, eloped to
Freedom of some kingdom she belonged to.
Freedom I too enjoyed to, in full form,
Pitied on pupils of my age in uniform,
Theft, thuggism , pick-pocket I perform.
Contract hooliganism for politicians
Kept me healthy, wealthy, instigated.
Then, sadly once in such an instance
My right hand was cut, amputated, hence
Got bed-ridden for weeks, so I realized
A mother beside is the lone comfort, safety.
Once out, I was more happy, rightly begging,
No more blood-shed, I was wholly enjoying
Then this day, today, this elegant old lady
On the driving wheel, posh, big pink goggles,
Stopped car, lowered glass, looked at me twice,
She was gone, no trace, so I bought a mirror,
First time in life, I looked into mirror, grinned,
The image in mirror looked like her,yes/ no?
Yes was the answer, no doubt it is her!
I am not son-of-a-bitch as they used call me,
I am now sure, I am son of rich!



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