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A Thought From After-Life

The love of women is an endless wheel,
From womb to grave it doesn’t humans leave.
We busy busy men this do not feel,
It keeps on hanging lightly to our sleeve

We take for granted cooing lullaby
And mothers hen- like fight, on our behest
When faced with fangless wrath of time. Then we
Come scampering back and on her bosom rest.

And in our married bliss, we much envied
With wry sarcasm do our blessing grant
But least know, how this very blessing need,
All men, though know not this for want of want.

I also came to know this in a flash,
My spouse when kissed me oddly ere my crash.


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