Messi...Dear Dad, Watch Over Me From Above your Love Still Walks Beside Me Poem by P A Noushad ...

Dear Dad, Watch Over Me from Above
Your Love Still Walks Beside Me...
"Take care of me from above,
as you did when you were here…"
Those words,
written by a son
to a father who has gone
beyond the reach of time,
fell into my heart today
like rain upon a wound
that never truly healed...
Messi…
Your words were not merely words to me.
They opened a door
to a room deep inside my soul
where my own father
still lives.
My father…
So young when he left this world,
so innocent,
so gentle,
so unprepared
for a society poisoned by corruption,
burdened by superstition,
and blinded by the darkness
of blind faith.
I was only a child.
But I was his eldest son.
And somewhere within his tired eyes
lived a dream for me,
a hope,
an expectation,
a silent prayer
that one day
I would become someone
he could be proud of.
He could not stay
to see the road I walked.
He could not see
the struggles I carried,
the tears I swallowed,
or the dreams
I refused to bury.
Yet I carried his dream
like a small flame
through the darkest years.
And today,
after all those years,
I stand here in England,
far from the little world
where my father's eyes
once watched me.
Father…
If you could see me now,
would you smile?
Would you say,
"My son,
you have done enough"?
I do not know.
But I still walk
as though somewhere
beyond the clouds,
your eyes are following me.
Messi,
you became an inspiration to me
long before this day.
Through football,
through your courage,
through your humility,
you taught millions of us
that dreams can survive
even when life
makes them seem impossible.
And somewhere
inside my own heart,
I carried a dream too,
that one day
you would walk into
the stadiums of 2026
and see me play.
I waited.
I hoped.
I did everything I could,
believing that perhaps
the final whistle
would not be the end
of a dream,
but the beginning
of another.
I remembered
my mother's words:
"His health is improving…"
And I imagined
my father somewhere
in the stands,
watching his son.
I imagined lifting
the 2026 FIFA World Cup trophy
and placing it before him.
"Dad…
This is for you."
But life…
Life does not always listen
to the dreams of sons.
And then came the silence.
The unbearable truth:
You have gone.
The trophy may remain.
The stadium may empty.
The lights may disappear.
The crowd may return home.
But a son can still stand alone
with one question
burning inside his heart..
Father,
when and where
will we meet again?
Is there a place
beyond this universe
where fathers wait for their sons?
Is there a road
that death cannot close?
Is there a sky
where lost voices become music
and tears become stars?
I do not know.
I only know that today, Messi,
when I read your words
to your father,
my eyes could no longer obey me.
The tears came
without permission.
Because for a moment,
your father
was my father.
Your grief
became my grief.
Your unanswered question
became mine.
And somewhere
between Argentina and Kerala,
between a football stadium
and a small village,
between a son
who became a legend
and a son
who simply kept walking,
two hearts
were asking
the same question:
Why does love
have to hurt this much?
And for one terrible moment,
my mind whispered:
If this world
was created to give us love,
why was it also created
to teach us
the pain of losing
those we love?
Why give a father
to a son
only to take him away?
Why plant dreams
inside a child's heart
if time can tear
the dream apart?
Perhaps…
Perhaps the answer is not
that love was created
to remain unchanged.
Perhaps love was created
to continue.
A father leaves his hands,
but not his lessons.
He leaves his voice,
but not his words.
He leaves his body,
but not his dreams.
He leaves this earth,
but somehow
continues walking
inside the life of his son.
Father,
I have carried you
across every road I travelled.
Across every failure.
Across every achievement.
Across every stadium.
Across every dream.
And now,
from England,
I look into the night sky
and wonder..
Are you somewhere there?
Can you see
how far your little son
has come?
Messi,
perhaps that is why
your letter touched me
so deeply.
Because behind every great man
there is often
a father whose dreams
were greater than his own life.
And behind every tear
there is a love
that death could not destroy.
So let the world remember this:
A father may leave this earth,
but he never truly leaves his son.
He becomes
the courage in his footsteps,
the light behind his dreams,
the strength in his darkest hour,
the voice that whispers,
"Keep going, "
when the whole world says,
"Give up."
And perhaps,
somewhere beyond the stars,
our fathers are waiting,
not as memories,
not as shadows,
but as love itself.
And perhaps one day,
when the final whistle
of this earthly life is heard,
we will walk beyond the darkness,
look into familiar eyes,
and finally ask:
"Father…
was this the road
you wanted me to walk? "
And perhaps
he will smile.
Perhaps
he will open his arms.
And perhaps,
after all the years,
after all the tears,
after every road
we walked without him,
he will simply say:
"Yes, my son.
I was with you
all the way."