Mother and Son*

Mother and Son*

Finding them
Mother and son
Straight from hills as if,
Painted stark, Visibly bright
Is like going to the hills,
How oft i see them,
The mother working hard
Dawn to dusk,
Bringing home food
And lentils few
For her son,

How oft me finds them,
Mother carrying her son
On her back, hung by cloth,
She going to the gardens of tea,
Plucking and sorting tealeaves green,
Her son little , hanging precarious
From her back, held by cloth,
As if a lovely hammock tied,
Her son sleeping, licking fingers his,
Sleeping, dozing, dozing, waking, crying,
How oft them i find,
Going through daily grind,

How oft them I find,
Motionless and still
As if painted bright,
Stark.

(*Note: loosely based upon a painting as attached, done by Zushmann)