Eternal Vigil Poem by Bishnupada Sethi

From the cradle of first light
I knew four eyes—
unblinking moons circling my dawn,
two pairs of hands,
calloused constellations
hoisting me above the flood of fears.

They stitched the night with silent wars:
a father's battle that grew too grave,
yet a mother's fingers still wove hope.
Every scar they hid became my shield;
every unspoken pain,
the deep soil where my dreams took root.

Gratitude was my earliest tongue—
a vow carved in milk-teeth and starlight:
"I will repay this borrowed breath with honour."
No mountain too steep, no river too wide;
I carried their gaze like a lantern into every storm.

Now those eyes have dimmed to memory's quiet lane,
those hands folded into the universe's keeping.
Yet solitude never settles.
Their pulse still thrums beneath my ribs—
a living compass rose of purpose.

I walk, and four eyes walk ahead;
two pairs of hands still part the mist.
The debt is not a chain but wings:
with every step of honour,
they lift me higher
than I could ever reach alone.