Father though I’m, who set their bread,
Their mother you’re; you care them all.
When night and day harder you work
While giving that love, I used to own,
To the children of mine, love fills in my heart
Greater than the day I met you first
And gets me closer and closer to your heart.
When you sit beside and kiss my head,
Fragrance of yours that’s often smelt
On my infant son’s face, makes me a devotee
Of the temple of yours, and then I feel
Not you as my lover, but a great, great mother.
Translation to Maestro Amaradeva’s ‘Though I’m their father’ (I published this , first, on November 11, 2016. I thought of publishing it again with new edits.)
Copyright © August 6, 2019, Newton Ranaweera
Image Source: Pixabay