By: Pijush Kanti Deb

Before it’s too late
and the Sun sets in the lap
of never ending barren night
a line of control is ought to be drawn
around the dogmatic sons and daughters
and their tearful parents
and used as a brake in their blind race
trampling the hopeful hearts of their parents
and a reverberating summon is ought to be shouted
for bringing them back
to listen to the prohibitory warnings
of the talking birds and clouds
with whom they fly their mad kites
and of the whispering moon and the stars
beneath whom they knit their selfish dreams
and thus they are to be compelled
to feel their parents in them
playing the second innings
to make their previous losses and deficiencies up
and lives satisfied with flying colors.