My Father’s story..

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’

But, then

‘there was always an old man who walked by..’

he says

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.


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