My Father

My father never wasted time in taking his kids in his lap or playing with them, he was busy in breaking mirrors, hitting the doors or his head against a wall or slapping his children or abusing everyone when helplessness trapped him in the web of poverty, illness and unfulfilled desires Orthodox and religionist in him taught us all superstitions, and made him a sage devoid of social life, and me, almost an atheist, He taught us good values without letting us in his room We had seen him write poems, We were not part of his universe, The world may be familiar with his work, but we haven't read his books as we have developed immunity to it, As a good teacher, he changed many schools and as an honest person, he rarely attended any social gatherings He didn't tell us our history or geography, Oblivious of siblings, locked in a closed family circle, ignorant of our community, we live at the borders of our social circle now When I see any kid, I wish to be with my father, Talk, learn and serve him but still I lack a bond, I haven't seen him for long time and never feel a need or pain of it He is counting his time, his legacy some published books and unpublished manuscripts lying in a store almirah, The long gap between us stops me to take those few steps, It seems a long journey Upbringing and luck shapes our life, my father was child of his misfortune and I am child of my father