A father watching his son
Gasp for each breath,
Which we take so effortlessly,
Is a tormenting punishment, so unbearable!
With tubes and pipes of various diameters
Inserted through his mouth, neck and nose,
And other places; the septuagenarian father
Stands by and silently takes the punishment.
Watching him, talking to him, cajoling him and
Inspiring him to cling to that ‘thin shaft of hope',
Which we have been ordained to do, the grieving
Father realizes that his son's body doesn't react.
He takes his hand in his own, recites supplications,
Tears fall from his eyes and dry up eventually!
With the son's non responsive hand held within his,
The father's memory flashes back; he remembers
The day his shy wife announced his presence in her,
And finally the day he arrived, when their world had
Condensed into that small squirming reddish child!
He remembers sending him to school, college, the
University and to his job. He caressed his fingers
And thought, how these fingers successfully created
Software programs for the Company he worked for!
Now he lies on a life support system, oxygen having
To be pushed into whatever is left of his lungs! That
He is alive is his hope and helps him hold a bold face!
A father is not supposed to cry!
He bears the agony and the anguish
All by himself in silent corners, unseen.
His lips may quiver, so may his voice,
His eyes may well up with tears,
But he must move on with a bold face!
13 July 2021.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem