Sunday Poem By Tapas Dey

Stringent fate

Each on glance is blank inquisitiveness, all time restless is the infant in the cossy waist lap.

The pride is this as the best gift of God. Joy, pride, freedom and life here is all to her.

Suddenly a shot from the power makes her stand at the threshold of death.

Pool of blood , motherhood is wriggling desperately.

Crying.............. Crying..............

The infant is now in the lap of stringent fate.

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