THERE, HE IS MY FATHER
Didn’t you hold my flabby hand
And lead me through the crowd,
Seating me on your lap
And of my visage laud?
Didn’t you recount tales
Million times told,
Just to lull me into sleep
When I was a year old?
Wasn’t it your tear
From a crestfallen heart,
Incessantly trickling on my cheeks
When your marriage tore apart?
Didn’t you swap your onus
Of being mom and dad
To cater juveniles four,
Whose smiles kept you glad?
Wasn’t it you, who taught me the word, ‘dad’
Which with soft tweets I mumbled,
Hearing which words you wept
Covertly with hands fumbled?
Whenever thorns pricked my soft flesh,
Wasn’t it you, who bore the agony,
Condemning self for not being good
Taking care of me?
No matter how hideous,
Destitute, old or lame
The parents are, their
Children will always love them.
My father, aged are you now,
Vision, weak to see
Your son standing to hold your hand
And walk together as once you did to me.
KARMA THUKTEN
31ST OF AUGUST, 2010
