Dad, You are still Here
And Dad, it has been a year since your anatomy has overstepped the threshold of our abode. Somehow it brings solace to us that peace has kissed you on the lap of almighty. Days weren’t smooth after you left. I was not a kid but watching the circumferences altering was too much heart wrenching, Dad.
I felt like a sophomore on the stairs of agony. I had to camouflage my tears as I needed to be the backbone of our home and I couldn’t let the bone marrow wash away with the direful cascade of tears.
But I cried Dad, I cried.
I wailed and prayed my hiccups to put a cease. I used to dip my face onto the pillow and keep walking on the serpentine pathway. The pillow used to be hell frozen before the dawn and that was the alarm, I had to tether the tears within the eyes, waiting for the next witching hour. Your merciless void used to sabotage my naps. I saw Mum, crying, before our family photograph. Each moment I used to smell tears around me the feud inside me used to roar,
tweaking all the blisters.
I remember the nights Dad, when I used to cringe seeing you breathing your last puff, perhaps. I could see the torrid desert heading towards our home and it was horrified not to see your shelter again. There was a plethora of whirlwinds inside my ribcage, hurricanes of regret that I wasn’t able to lighten your blain. I was hopelessly hapless to see you die. I remember the hideous nights I used to sit beside you, taking care of your diet and medicines, trying to provide you some comfort, suppressing my choked voice and telling you “everything would be fine, papa”, rubbing your hands gently and tracing warmth in those cold palms.
Nothing became fine, Dad. Nothing.
I could do nothing. Your son could do nothing.
Those nights weren’t nights but blizzards.
And I had to go afar from home Dad, for my study. I didn’t want to leave the place where your dusts were breathing but I had to. I remember I wasn’t a good kid, perhaps. I wasn’t the suitable clay to fit into your favorite pot. I know you had dreams which you wanted to see in my frame, I remember them and I am watering them in the back of my mind. I came afar but with your emerging ethos Dad. I recall your words which you told me when I used to do some notorious tot jobs. Your sunrise like words; when I used to sigh, my shoulders used to be filthy or when my appearance used to be belittled, still echo on the alleys of my reminiscence. They roam like a gentle whiff, light up the lampposts of hope and cuddle the petrichor after I cry.
But some day when I visit home, I visit your room, Dad. Maybe hallucination but I can hear your warm welcome greeting. I open the locked door of your room. As soon as I open them I feel as if your savor has enwrapped me and your positive vibes started caressing my soul.
Each time I feel a gentle breeze when I go near your arm chair. I sniff your cologne in your archaic cloths. I gently touch the dust layers on your belongings. The deluge of your memories takes me away. The retentions, last time my head occupied your shoulder and the embracement we had, are evanescent but I see the candid image of yours Dad, whenever I close my eyes inside the room.
I am not a stargazer Dad, yet I glance at the stars from the window of your room. There is something I share with the star, with you that even
the last galaxy cannot soak the moist of.
The fall of tears is abysmal yet I sustain gazing stars and end up whispering,
you are still here, Dad.