At The Dead End Poem by GOBINDA SAHOO

At the dead-end of life ferry
Our mother called on us
My brothers,
One elder and the other younger, and me
For partition of what we had inherited,
our father had left.
That he met his fatal end of cardiac garrest
When just his hair had started greying-
The first clarion that he is turning old.
Drawing lines in each building
In each piece of land
Sharing utensils and furniture
Even each souvenir of our father was easy
Except when the question that came of
The bungalow of the mother,
The one most expensive and
epitome of our father’s love
She kept it out of our reach.
But to my surprise
The next day my wife started talking judicious-
How could mother stay alone in the bungalow
With mere servants that my parents had appointed?
We are her wards
And all right she reserves
To be cared.
That in the usual evening family meeting
My sibling also released
What from their spouses
They had sensed.
To her adversity in the dinner
She had disclosed in evening
To all grandchildren
The secret of inheritance-
‘It is reserved for one, serving,
Providing utmost care at my dead-end’.