By nature or culture,
Man has grown polygamous
And woman, mono-yandrous.
You had been like a dove fluttering
Towards the nest;
You had been like a hen moving about
the yard.
You had soared sky high, legs tucked
In husband’s hold.
Like an angel you walked;
Like a breeze you moved.
You made gods of music;
You made music of gods.
You reared, like a mother, husband’s
children.
You cared, like father, the people of
destitute.
You quit the floor you’d sprung from;
You stuck to the roof you’d clung to.
The whole roof dripped at your exit;
The entire floor wasn’t wet for your exit.
O, you M.S., who were home bound!
O, singing queen, who were in the borrowed custom.
12.12.2004
Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/obituary-to-m-subbalakshmi-singer/
