Every
evening, my father
Sits to eat
Just like
an Indian man;
Cross-bending
his feet.
Sitting,
smiling,
He eats the
lovely rice,
Just then
the waste rice
Is
conveyed; by a mice.
Then
suddenly; bells,
The phone’s
ring, when
My father
was eating; like a king
Then came
my mother,
In a plate;
holding food,
She started
eating,
In a great
mood.
Slowly
taking morsels,
In the
mouth,
Side-by-side,
clearing
Everyday’s
doubts.
Happily
they,
Used to
eat,
Then I came
before;
Them to meet.
Asking
mother,
To take a
while,
Still has
to go,
Many miles.Composed by:-
Shivam Jha
