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UNCLE MOON : SONNET 74

My mother didn't, nor any other did,
Who promised to pluck me that welkin lily,
But later I forwent my mother's bid,
For it was not a bloom, but my uncle only,
Called Moon, in beaming colour of cream white,
Who lived in cheery sky with many toys,
And would alight with wings of wind some night
To take me thither for avuncular joys...
Though now false is each folksy lore or lyre,
We idolize our mothers for the wisdom,
Who show'd us dream and farm'd in us desire 
To scale the humanity's second home;
That, ere we lose love, lilies, life on here,
Depart will we for 'Chandmama' forever...

-- N P SAMAL 

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