This goes on and on as a gift to my beloved father. It is something I had never done before. I never wrote him a poem or song when he was alive and since he is no more, there is an array of thoughts, added to which is a rhyme and rhetoric, comes in the scene. I wish I would have said all those words to you dad, when you were here with me. All those gifts which i gave you over the years are now meaningless because I had to gift fire to your pyre when you lay there motionless and, probably forcibly quite. This is porbably one of the gifts I have to offer which speaks beyond the volumes of materialism, because, I know I will be waiting with the candles on your birthday cake, till the candles doesnt sinks in the soft chocolate or may be blown off by you, or may be I will just wait endlessly beyond these two clauses. Love You and Wishing You a Happy Birthday, Dad!
Words deep inside,
The grave that is mine.
The echoes fail to reach him,
The tears so dry.
I waited for a prick,
To shatter the nightmare.
I saw the wrinkles so fresh,
And the deadly scare.
The last rose,
That I gifted to you.
Is been shedding tears,
Crying on its fate.
On your birthday, Dad,
I cry so hard.
My heart skips a beat,
And the veins bleed out.
I sat there screaming 'Foul'
While time played on.
Looking back at the moments,
A name among the dead.
The wishes that I'd ask for,
And the things that they were.
The pain goes deeper,
And burns under my skin.
I sail across the sea,
Hoping to see you there.
The hugs and the gifts,
And the moments to share.
On your birthday, Dad,
Been feeling the blues.
The destiny goes on,
And i follow the rules.
On your Birthday, Dad,
I miss you so.
Yours:
Piyush
