The love I have for my father
Is like the love of a mother
For the child she has the most trouble loving.
She ends up loving that child more
Than the others. So too I have come
To love my father more
Though he stayed out late at nights
Drinking and smoking, accusing
Her-of-god-knows what on his return.
Though he said I was not his son
Because I defended her honor.
Though he still loves drinking
And smoking and staying out late,
Gambling; never thinking to save a cent.
I often worry about him
Like any good mother would,
Wondering what will become of him
After his imminent retirement.
I realize: reciprocity requires
I do the same he did for us
Perhaps accusing him, too,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem