Daughter Is Mother's Replacement. Poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar

I was combing my daughter's hair,
Sitting in front of the mirror.
I chanced to see a strand of grey
Near the temple; I was perturbed.

‘She coming to age, I'm aging.
She blooms as I wane in our life.
As her hip bone is sharpening
My breasts are slackening.' I thought.

Is she a threat to my interest?
Is she a rival to my pursuits?
No, she is my copy in all:
Looks, face, grace, talks and mannerism.

God sent her as my replacement.
She is not to overtake me
But follow me in succession
In the relay race of my breed.
01.08.2014