[A poem by Mr. T.S.S. Murty titled ‘A Place of Relief!’.]
[dropcap]I[/dropcap] heard, three decades ago, that a distant relative,
Being homesick, sought to become a social fugitive;
He was away from all, in a different continent,
While he himself wished to go abroad, wasn’t that content;
Whenever he was reminded of his family,
This is the room he shut himself in for his tear-draining homily.
I heard from another relative of mine,
That a variety of dishes were unavailable to dine;
But, when available, this is the room to rush to
Nobody noticing, along with an eatable or two;
Though the craving was invariably for food,
This is the room that always made the mood.
We all heard about great artists’ renditions
Most of them produced albums under tough conditions
They all created a repertoire for the world
Each with the unique history, as they unfold;
But, what about the common man longing to sing?
This is the room that helps him sing, with no inhibition, the song!
I heard and I still hear, when a parent, for the kid,
And a wife, for her husband, would ruthlessly forbid,
Part of the stack stealthily shifts to this room
And the bookworm’s aspirations zealously zoom;
Outside this room, while others desperately complain and wait,
This is the room that helps the avid reader like a lovely bait!
But, what is it that we all hear now?
Good number of heart attacks happen there? Holy cow!
Everyday, that little time used for taking bath,
Is always done by most in good faith;
That little run away site for physical and psychological home,
Is eventually to be called a de-stressing or distressing room?
