A Requiem for my father
When he was growing up, T’was the era of the sixties
The culture of soulful Jazz, the twin-colored pictures
He was raised not in a household, but in an ‘army camp’
Where he was mindful of his duty and made to vie for a Govt. stamp.
He wrought incessantly, a genius of hard work
Receiving his comeuppance, with a beautiful wife as a perk.
So dignified was his character, perhaps a bit too noble
Expecting exquisiteness from even family, or you were inexplicably ignoble.
When his children became men and women themselves
He was proud of their impeccable mannerisms
Oblivious that his harshness
Was nearly a cause of aneurisms.
There he sat in his rocking chair,
a decade without his children to adhere
Proud as a peacock,
he couldn’t bring himself to care
Unbeknownst to both parent and child, their eyes drooped with unshed tears.
Now on his deathbed I hereby stand
From where I inherited my baleful pride, I finally understand.
Never once naked, never hungry, never shivered in chilly winds or rain
My father emphatically did his duty, my childish hope of reconciliation now shattered in vain.
I look at my daughter beside me, and gaze at the babe in my arms
Though my fame is sagged today, I heartily welcome this glorious chance.
To do my duty not with strictness, but with undertanding and love rather,
So that one day my dad smiles from heaven listening to his grandchildren
proclaiming-“I’m proud of you, father!”