My father’s story
My father often tells me his tales
I listen to each of them, trying to keep up with his pace
With my mind set,
Putting his images in picture frames..
I watch the moments roll by..from a distance
The stories, only I shall ever know well
It begins with struggles of him as a kid
Almost a blind mother, unable to arrange for his daily needs
One, that I can only imagine, when he describes me
‘a beauty’ I presume, deceived by destiny
‘I never saw my father’ slowely he unfolds
‘With my widow mother, I spent my early days most at home’
‘waiting for my brothers who never cared to show up’
‘a life of an orphan..i would have traded anything for’
‘Hey you..boys would shout, teasing me, looking for a fight’
‘And I would, because there would be no other way out’
‘for a boy whose name is only a noble, yet walks the streets on empty feet’
‘Noone would stand up, scared to get a beating’
‘there was always an old man who walked by..’
forcing to undo his last spoken sentence that wells up my eyes,
Perhaps trying to make me understand ‘there was some one who saw him for more than who he was’
I see him lost in that beautiful moment.. with that kind man.
Suddenly noticing me stare, at his unintended pause
He adds ‘chunks of hair he trimmed, picking up all my hair lice’ my dear girl.
‘ew many??’trying to sound disgusted,I smile
He smiles back
Recalling the moment he truly cherished.