Who is it that in the mirror I see?
When have the crows so heavily trod that way?
No barber’s challenge here to justify his fee,
Just thinning hair and beard of grey.
Now my father stares at me,
His, my likeness does replace.
No rebuke, just empathy.
Did he once see his father’s face?
As I use my comb in search of hair,
I ponder – When I have gone my way,
Will my son see my face there?
And I wonder what he may say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nicely said. It seems the passage of time brings perspective and we now have an inkling of how our fathers felt. Thankyou for sharing.