Thursday, May 13, 2010
13 May 1992. A day that’s etched forever in my heart, as it has the infamy of being the day my father died. In a way I died too. But in the same breath you could say I was also born. To a new life bereft of the paternal security and comfort I was used to. So today that makes me an adult. 18 long years have passed eighteen years without the man who meant the world to me and more. And what, have I grown up then, have I matured into a little adult? Did my father really die that night? No, I shout and I will say no again and again for surely he is alive as he lives in me. How can he be dead then, if I still hear the gold of his voice, feel this thoughts guiding my every action, feel his fingers brush away my tears?
Ah, then I have the memories………
I still remember the blood that flowed
as fresh and near as now
I remember every night in the ICU
sitting silent afraid to move....
lest I cause you pain
I don't remember what I thought
but I could feel your strength
gathering itself in my veins
letting me stay there by your side
time and again
I never once heard you complain
or twist your face in fear
your eyes stayed bright and I was proud
that you were my father
and fighting still
I remember you at home, those days
of stilted smiles and broken dreams
are etched forever in my heart
a vivid memory that I cannot
I try very hard to forget it all
and think nothing of it
but these memories are engraved
too deep to erase even
if I could.
Sometimes in my silence
I understand that final lesson
I have learned. And if anyone thinks
that I am strong, they think wrong.
it’s you that lives in me.
Posted by Ipsita Banerjee at 12:47 AM
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The pain that's sometimes thereReplyDelete
can only bring down streams,
of all past years
as if ,it was a dream.
You too are strong
and wish no wrong
for burdens you have borne.
The radiance of your Fathers Love
On your face is brightly shown.
(Ahem!a note to a brave girl..wja)