My Father
Looking at my hand…
every time, I offered my support,
my Father looked at it…
scrutinisingly-
with a bit of question,
a bit of doubt, and a lot of faith…
expressed through his silent gaze,
that lasted a few seconds.
My Father, whose hand
has been a rock of strength, support and guidance for me,
a symbol of righteousness, uprightness and morality-
today, needs an extended hand…
to help him take his stand.
My Father, who walked three miles
every day of his life
following every single dawn-
the drizzle greeting him,
out on his morning spree with the umbrella in hand...
Each, early dog on the road…
clearing the path for him,
as did every cyclist, that rode,
carrying his early burdens before him.
Talking to the breezing winds, the early morning sun's rays…
leaving his footprints on many a dewy, grassy ways,
my Father, would be out on his morning walk, while the world
still tossed and turned, cosily curled.
Never could I foresee a time, when
such a man, who, my mother called, 'a racing steed', would need be chaperoned,
of course, all to his dislike and distress.
Not every hand does he welcome,
but mine…
he gazes at, as perhaps the small hand that it once was.
If memories hold a treasure for me
so must they hold for him-
the soothing shoulder that put my baby head to sleep,
today, when he is 92, makes my heart gasp and weep.
'Age has its ways', he always says,
yet, with a sparkling twinkle in his eye, and
a loud ripple in his laughter,
reminiscent of all his laughter, heard in my childhood,
with the shade of difference though…
time holds nothing but itself, and does not for ever go.
Pushpinder Kaur: 5.9.14
Such a lovely write coming from the inmost chamber of your heart where you have stored so much of fond memories! This is the best tribute a daughter can offer to her father! The 'Racing steed' of yore can no more gallop, but needs an extended hand! What change comes over with age! Fortunate is the daughter and blessed is the father that such warmth still exists between the two! I love those children who express felial piety to their parents!
My Father, who has been my role model, has been an extraordinary man of great accomplishments, and the most loving father. I have just begun to gather and harness my most treasured memories of him and shall look forward to capturing the rich experiences of my life under his irreplaceable guidance. He is my mentor and a strong pillar of strength for me and shall always continue to be, as he has always been. The pity of life, a man who is richly read in poetry in Punjabi, Urdu as well as English and can still recite many excerpts, cannot register what has been written by his daughter! Yet, the living spirit of poetry shall continue to inspire me to pay homage to a wonderful Father.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's superb poem// really you both of Tribute poems on Father and Mother is enjoyable// excellent heart-touching expression/// Yeah To Mark..........///