My sister pointed a man on the road calling him our father
She had a faint smile hoping he would turn and smile back
I saw him walking away in a busy market wearing a suit
Perhaps a man on business while we stood like a failed investments
I asked my mother about the man called My father
She weakly smiled and kissed my chubby childhood cheeks
Years went by and that man often crossed my way, often smiled too
And i smiled back to the stranger who everyone called my father
We met once a while at his place greeting his new family
A mandatory yearly visits like paying homage to gods for life living
The man called my father looking at me with his guilty eyes
And i smiling at the stranger to the man who called himself my father
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so beautiful, ... it hides the pain... well written