Father

Author: Vagif Gadzhyiev

In loving memory of my Dad

How love we our fathers.
Yet, little know them.
The richness of dad's love
can hardly be replaced.
Don't listen to this world
that twists 'n tells us slyly:
- that only mother's
love enthroned and supreme.

And here we grow clipped,
no strength in disbelieving.
These tales put asleep,
imposed upon us.
How few and far between,
who will this knot unravel.
While souls torn apart, with
voids and black holes.

The father's love is strict,
but meaningful, abundant.
With little, tiny smile
life has passed.
Not visible at first,
so difficult to follow
the biggest closest soul
and heart that ever bleeds.

The passing years help fathom.
Their love is so unique!
The difference, perhaps,
the lack of words of glamour.
With meekness glory comes,
the minutes pack mischief.
Watch out friendly guile.
Cool trick us to encourage.
A timely spank may also teach.

Here comes adulthood, rich in ages,
portrait of him is all remains.
Heart overflows contemplating
the dearest, deepest eyes of him.
Behold clarity on face,
some traces of fatigue.
The pursed up lips as always
say: - be blessed son, never fail!