My Father
He held my hand when I was little
Helped me to read, write and scribble
Here is a poem for him, my father
A person so honest, patriotic and noble
There is so much to share
So much to apprise
As endless memories
Flash before my eyes
Learning languages
Was his ultimate passion
Languages, he said, help bond and relate
And spark mutual communication
Sanskrit, Marathi, English and Hindi
Were the languages that he mastered
But to learn more and explore
Was a wish that he always fostered
With an eloquent speech
And a beautiful handwriting
He gave utmost importance
to meticulous writing
He always read and read a lot
A voracious reader and writer, I always thought.
Cooking, cleaning or any other chores
He always did with professional scores
Ups and downs
In life’s narrow pathways
Never stopped him from
Being self reliant always
Savings of his hard work
Of toiling day and night
Were only spent in shaping us
And for our delight
These priceless jewels of his teachings
He bestowed on us all without fail
Yet he calls himself a broke
As he lies in bed tired and frail
I pray for his strength and strive for his cheer
To return the smiles he gave me, in double
With utmost respect and love for him, my father
A person so honest patriotic and noble.
