A torn shirt, leather tied short and bare feet,
Can cover his body but only for a while.
Harsh lords and withered rocks and leaves;
He can survive in them but only for a while.
A happy bird on the branch and soft winds on the ground,
That among the rest will go for a while longer.
He can face the bitterness of the world,
At it’s best leaving him nothing less than mother earth.
He can fall to his feet defeated by torturing blaze,
At it’s most pouring red-hot molten lava into his heart as he begs.
At the most of any point in his life
You will find him picking up the pieces
Building another hope from what is left.
It takes him sand to make a garden.
It takes him a drop of water to make rain.
It might take him time to have more
But only for a while will prize come after something.
His strength is extracted from his hair like Samson.
His prayers are answered from above as Abraham’s.
He keeps looking into the sky,
Hoping that the seed of his faith and hard work
Will one day produce into a replica of his own.
A sweat mirrored by his own,
Blood and tears borne from his anxiety.
The sun could burn down his hopes
And dine from his last grip a decent meal.
But as he keeps on dreaming towards the future,
As he keeps on flapping his arms not to sink,
As his heart of good faith keeps beating between his lungs,
As he raises his arm to hide the sun in his hand,
And closes it to redeem all hopes he ever had,
He does that for a crucial role and an essential responsibility.
And “Father” is the title he earns.
Happy Father’s Day, Baba!