The Momma Clan

To my father 

Late Shree Sudeep Prasad Kayastha

Yours Jasmine of December

blowing the new pipe of hope in a symmetrical abyss…

in a cavern,

In a chirpy December,

where i can sense sandalwood perfumeries,

was that darkness,

a temple, messiah, church i don’t know,

The inner temple of mine,

The inner god who is in dotted in orange chrysanthemum,

With his hidden nectars of wisdom of death

He pour over the ivories of soul atonement,

Renaissance of Karma’s and Sin,

Pendulum of penicillium of thirst,

Totem of realization,

Nectarines of cornucopia,

Beginning of bright butterfly transition,

The spiritual white light,

The saccharine conscience of solitude in Crowd,

Thank you for giving me gifts of realization

So that I can chrome the love of that My King,

My father,

To that sun who breaks in my DNA,

The pieces or light like a seed

The aspiration of bringing his names on tables,

The fan of lord baden powell, and RM,

An avid lover of collecting shoes and books,

The golden ink my mathematics writer,

A drinker of Pythagorean theories, 

A Capricorn soldier, 

A golden midas like heart,

A man who loves clouds, cameras and his tiring meteorology job,

My father who was a genius Flag,

To,

The crown of that sacrificial Father, 

my Father,

To,

Your charisma of knowledge, 

I want to say sat sat Naman,

And 

I love you.

–Sunayana Kayastha