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THE DEATH OF MY LAST UNCLE : SONNET 212

He was born, our country in the British grip,
To a feudal lord who shower'd freedom o'er
What earn'd the honor of the largest fief,
His people's loving him as a God-like zamindar.
And ninety years my uncle did sojourn --
On this unfairly Earth that even sends back
The good; as went down the last majestic sun,
Burying the whole inside a lifeless dark --
Has multiplied my grandpa's noble 'state;
Not by the acreage, but by the essence 
The human beings will NOT be human without:
A love-truth-peace-grants-fill'd inheritance;
That my nurtured-well cousins will carry from,
Though dies my longing for my uncle's home. 

-- N P Samal 


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