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and unpublished manuscripts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
Copyright © Sandeep Kumar Mishra | Year Posted 2021
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