The unfortunate one was dead
in her nineties,
In utter poverty and neglects.
She had fed me with stories,
One among them was Parasakthi
Which was later copied in
celluloid
By M. Karunanithi as his own.
She told it and kept me to
wonder;
She had led me to an
imaginary world.
A steel framer and an
estranged wife,
She was dear and near to a
rich
Neighbour of my kin.
She had two butterflies as
daughters,
The younger one was my
playmate,
Later, as a woman, once my
bedmate.
The elder one, who had many
fans,
Retains her glamour even now.
The old woman was dead.
I never repaid my debts;
I never aided against her
poverty,
I never cared to see her
While she was ailing and
failing.
How ungrateful I am!
Ungratefulness is inborn.
When I am in deathbed,
None of my fans will be by my
side.
17.02.2002
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