Father, forever felt alive
To write about him, never so easy,
Seems like expressing sky’s vastness in words,
To me, trust he’s dwelling in walls of house
Or vigour gone within its founding base.
An assurance supported by its doors
That welcome you in whenever arrive,
In the minds of innocent naïve children,
Majestic mountain ever standing tall.
Time comes, son has to gather the ashes
Of his father carried on his shoulder
A few hours back, the very same body
On whose shoulders he had ere seen the world.
Mother’s absence if felt is in minutes,
Fathers, when he’s no longer in this world,
His presence, often just tolerated--
From morning tea, words of caution and care.
But when all this stops one eventful day--
My dad was apparently harsh to me
As child, loving still in his unique ways,
I realize, what rare wealth they were of life!
Mother’s love may look like soft cooling rain,
Father’s, like an unseen underground string
That keeps the tender greenery alive,
In raging sun it’s hard to recall spring.
He may not always leave you behind wealth,
But fathers spend their priceless youthful years,
They cut apart a portion of their dream
And add it up to child’s unknown to him.
I wonder if they stay alive as stars,
As ancestors to guide our life’s affairs,
Anyway, death causes end of body,
Fathers remain alive in fatherhood.
_______________________________
Reminiscing | 12.06.2026 | father, life, mountain, spring, string, Blank Verse/Quatrain
Note: On Fathers’ Day..., as a grandfather myself, I often feel my father’s presence in life’s tender moments.
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