(though it maybe untruth rather.)
"That her son travelled west -
It was all the villagers guessed.
Heart in despair, eyes in tears filled -
Her belief did not on rumour build.
Far as sobbing eyes could gaze -
She counted her passing lonely days.
Seasons passed, she became old -
One day her son came to her fold.
Many winters came by and went -
Her lonely days were in prayers spent.
The ascetic son now live on alms,
given to him by some holy palms.
Sacred thy womb, Godly those mothers,
whose saintly son do care for others.
Prasenjit©2022
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