Father

Last night
Lying beside father,
I faced his wrinkled skin for the first time,
I saw time.
And a shattered dream.

We talked in lacs and years:
Of paddy fields and fisheries;
Of insurance policies and pensions.
The price of knowledge.
And ignorance too.

I promised him a new dawn:
Like I had done so many years ago,
Sitting on his shoulders by the riverside,
Watching the fishermen set sail
At first light.


What I didn't tell him about was
The dimly lit room
Thousand miles away,
In narcotic evenings,
Where at some boundless moment
I could have denounced him for show.