// Not really a poem, just sharing my experience, I guess //
I really don't know,
How my dad found out about my poems,
Maybe he went through my files
and read most of the collections...
Going through my stuff is
something he has never done before,
but on reading my poems,
He said to me,
' To many broken-heart poems,
saying the same thing,
about the same person,
How long do you plan to
be this way, lost and messed up?? '
and I said to him,
' Dad you wouldn't understand '
Well he left me with that,
and he went to office and I to school,
but later in the evening,
he held out a box,
It contained a watch,
The brand name was Fastrack,
and the tagline went as, Move-On!...
I made a poker face
and told him,
' I see what you did there dad...
your puns are more killer than my poems... '
and he told me,
' Your poems are pieces of ****.
you are still young '
And I said again,
' You wouldn't understand, Dad...
Don't call them pieces of **** '
and then he interrupted me,
saying ' When I was your age....
and I won't tell what happened next,
just that with that classic line,
came in more puns...
but in the end, he told me -
" You are not the only one who has gone through all this **** "
and with an expression I would call rather weird,
he exclaimed...,
" Her lips tasted of wine,
and soft hazel were her eyes... "
but I interrupted him in between,
and went shouting,
" Mom, Mom!!!.... "
and he behind me,
screaming,
" Wait, You Hypocrite !! "
Thanks a lot dad! Well, one thing I have come to conclude after this incident is that amateur poetry runs in the family blood xD
