Fame at Home

Fame at home,is home at fame. 
Make your mother proud,
Before you fly your wings out of home.
You and your wings are hers.
She knows what you are made of,
Besides what happens in and around you.
When you spread your wings and fly high,
Your mother monitors your flight and,sings
Proudly of your wings' velocity and width.

Bask your wings to warm up the little birds;
Your mother will laud you,in winged words.
It is the home that shows you the vast world
And not the world,that hides your home furled.
When people look for you,as fields for a tractor,
Lift the low birds,with your fine,feel good factor.
The nests at home you have shunned,are too many;
Your aim should be intense,to fertilize your progeny.
Fly to each and every low nest,in your exhaustive soil,
Diverting your alien flights for a while,to stop the spoil.
Foreign fame evades pages of history,as illusion and myth;
Let your wings in full swing,level the low birds,forthwith.
Fame is a flourish of soil's hopes,that one never smothers,
For the sake of building castles in the air,to amaze others .
                                                          P. Chandrasekaran