SON

He stood there, on platform twenty-first,
Saying goodbye, experiencing the worst,
Looking at her, the last time, or the first,
Feeling, (of saying more), a sudden thirst

He wished, in that moment, for it to freeze,
For the tick-tock of the big clock just to cease,
And as he wished that, in came a deep breeze,
A whiff of her hair, as if to tease

Her moist eyes, deep as a black sea,
Her smile, which had been, of his happiness, a key,
Creases on her forehead, one for each person,
Her hair, graying, from working in the sun

At the touch of her love, he turned into a poet,
And poetry, flowed, as the two souls met,
And so a son, went to fight for his first mother,
For his soil, and country, leaving behind another.