CARRYING--------? IS IT JUST A CARRY BAG? 

The other day I was in the airport, not for flying reasons, but to see off someone, dear,
Reaching airport very early, I was lazily seated in the lounge for dear friend’s arrival,
Watching curiously with jealous and zealous eyes, those scenes of mirth and sorrow,
The rejoining and rejoicing pairs of eyes and sore and sodden eyes of bread winners.

Little did I realize till then the pains of such departing souls of those working abroad,
Nor the agonies of their dear ones old or young on this side, waiting their safe return.
Forget the dollars, the loneliness, the fear and the glamour of greener pastures weigh,
Heavily in the sick and crumbled frames of an elderly widow or widower nevertheless.

Here is one such widow lamenting in front of me with a different pathetic plight of hers,
Her only son working abroad, entrenched for years, well settled with family and children,
She lost her husband years back, living alone in her house thanks to good neighbourhood,
In spite of repeated requests the son did not reply verbally to take her abroad with him,

Finally he came this time to take her with him, the same day I came to see off my dear,
I took pains to enquire her plight, I was told that her son had gone to verify her passport,
Having waited for hours he never returned to take her, she only came to know belatedly,’
He had boarded his flight, disappearing into the white clouds, old woman left in the blue.

The vexing query before me, the wails and perils of a motherhood exposed here fully,
Nine months of selfless carrying, or a painful labour for whom? For whose cause, none!
Is the uterus just a carrybag sans emotions just for the sake of mechanical progeny,
To produce them and carry them and thrown into litters after its hormonal saturation.