Skip to main content

On Father's Day



Five years and a month back
I lived,
In and out of love,
Love,
Which much to my chagrin
Would not spread 
Over my head in a continuum.
I was needed
But not so much,
I was loved
But never so much.

The longing
Shadowed the moons
Of brightest nights
And the clouds
Hung heavy in the cleanest skies.

The journey of centuries
Which traversed,
Across several births
Gasped and limped,
With broken breath
And battered soul.

And then
     Five years and a month back
A head with scant hairs
Looked at me
With barely open 
Blue eyes.
I dropped
A finger towards you
And your soft, pink, palm
Cuddled over it,
Securing it 
As a comforting coast 
Does to the anchor 
Of a tired ship.

We went on walks
While you 
Smiled and stared back
Like a little Buddha,
In the small bed of yours;
Set in the stroller,
You saw the ducks
For the first time,
And with you
I evidenced life for the first time,
Drunk in our firsts, 
We smiled as friends.

You would walk
Holding my hands
With uncertain steps
Joining the larger humanity
As a new entrant
Breaking off from 
The fraternity of toyhood 
              To which
 you seemed to belong.


As the novelty of walks waned
You would hang by my being
Begging to be picked
And once picked

 Would beg to sit on the shoulder.
Over the years
A certain deftness and dexterity 
You have earned
As you would swiftly 
Climb through the lap to the  
Shoulder,
No longer needing to 
Balance yourself by pulling on my hair.

I remember that pulling of my hairs, 
Which you no longer need
To resort to,
And dread the day
When I won't 
Even have your weight on my shoulders 
As you will grow
Too big 
And I will grow too feeble
And as the circle completes
We will go back to our first connect
When those tiny, pink palms
Cuddled my finger,
And like a weary voyager
I will rest my heavy head
In your lap,
And close my eyes
Watching 
You someday holding
Your finger
To another pink, little palm.


       - (c) Saket, 16th of June, 2013

 

Comments

Arent dad n daughter's relation special! loved the way you mentioned it :)

well, you can link this to our linky party !!..
http://mumsphere.com/fathers-day-2013-link-party/

Love

Vandana
saket suryesh said…
Thanks Vandana, so nice of you to have visited and liked it. Good to connect with you. True, it is a very special relation, which redeems life.
So often I read your posts on my phone and it won't let me comment. Today, luckily I am on the computer and can.

Saket this is such a beautiful poem. Thank you. You really do have a rare talent my friend.

Popular posts from this blog

Book Review- The Waves- By Virginia Woolf

Book: The Waves Author: Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) Genre: Fiction (Spiritual/ Philosophical) Style: Experimental Published: 1931 Publisher: Hogarth Press Rating: Must Read, Classic
“The Author would be glad if the following pages were not read as a Novel.” – WroteVirginia Woolf(1882-1941) on the manuscript of The Waves (Initially called The Moths). It was first published in 1931.  We are close to a century since this book was published, still this book is unparalleled and unequaled. The Independent called this Book of a Lifetime.
This is not an easy book to read. Beauty is never too easy to create, or is it ever too easy to savor to the fullest. Both production as well as the consumption of true work of art needs to be earned. This is a difficult book to read yet immensely elegant and infinitely exquisite. The story, unlike most fictional novels, does not unfold through dramatic events. It doesn’t depend on drama, it deftly steers clear of the mundane. It is sensually sublime and magnificentl…

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man- James Joyce- Book Review

Amazon Link 
Some books are an act of education; they cannot be read in haste, cannot be understood in one read. James Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man gives one such feeling.
It is a coming of age story of Stephen Dedalus. Nothing extraordinary about that. But then there a rich, slowly flowing lost river of philosophy which moves beneath the surface, turning an ordinary story of a boy growing up, encountering questions about faith, religion and sex, into an exceptional, extraordinary and engaging story. The story moves along the timeline, much in the manner of Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, where the writer is seemingly a passive narrator. Further, while this book is more of a philosophical essay wrapped around a story, Ms. Woolf’s book, on the other hand, is rather a Story primarily, with a philosophical touch. This book is blatantly philosophical, dwelling into the dangerous territory of religion and how a growing mind looks at God. It begins with his school, whe…

Madam Bovary's Eyes- Flaubert's Parrot - Book Review

Some books are very hard to classify and categorize. This is one such book. Officially, it is a fiction, a novel. In terms of genre, it should be put in the same shelf as Cakes and Ale by Maugham or The Ghost Writer of Philip Roth, both I have read this year. But then, maybe not. The two are totally fictional, in terms of all the characters contained in them, even though they do have a writer as the central character. But then, that is all that has to do with writing. I don’t think we ever consider the writer’s profession as a central point of those novels. Also the characters are out and out fiction. That is where this book is different. It is about the giant of French literary history (and now, of English classical literature)- Gustave Flaubert.
            The characters and references are all real. Julian Barnes throws all his weight behind the genius who is the key protagonist in the fiction, follows the dictum of a perfect biography as mentioned by Flaubert in a letter in 1872, …