Dear father,
i was lifted in your presence, by your presence,
from the cradle which was my world,
that closed upon me with fancies,
full of toys, ducks, angels and swans,
As i grew up, i faced the broad daylight
full of rays of paths with,
independent, invisible doors that opened,
to new staircases leading to different
monuments, pastures, colours and wonders,
You, in your good intentions,
forced me into one door,
thinking that it would be best for me,
the best suit that would fit me snugly,
with absolutely no consent, no view,
which was uttered from my lips,
You trusted that i would
grow up to produce logical
views, views which the
society made a standard rule,
which no tangential thought can
ever revolt against.
Father, even though, you think

the burning, yet subdued sadness,
has already taken the shape
of a dewdropp on a waterlily,
One fine morning,
when your soul is nothing,
but a green pasture, that