Thursday, December 20, 2007

Hero

Father,
my knuckles ache as I write this.
Father,
my knees buckle as I climb.
my fingers shake
my feet hurt
my voice trails, off and on.

Father,
I cannot carry a child.
my forearm is a mite smaller
than you saw it last.
my thighs, once hard as my will,
can’t carry my weight, sometimes.

The end seems just a little larger
just a little closer
sometimes.

Would this have killed you, father,
had you been alive?

Wherever you are, father,
please, please touch me where it hurts.





2 comments:

Sowmya said...

I am sure he does touch you where it hurts... thats why you go about your life normally as all others... may he be with you always...

ഗിരീഷ് വെങ്ങര said...

Shooting into y(our) deep bone marrow..!!!