I have walked behind my father for many years,
Marveling at the broad expanse of his shoulders and the strength in his back.
As a child, my father was a veritable giant in my eyes
His shoulders stretching towards the horizon
And far beyond the reach of my own spindly arms.
Whenever he lifted me high onto his mighty shoulders,
the world unfolded before my eyes
I felt like a demi-god on the shoulder of a god, lifted to heights where my troubles could not follow.
Every sight and sound was a revelation and more than anything else, I felt like I was on top of the world.

As a teenager going through changes,
I still walked behind my father, like a son ought to do.
his back, a steady silhouette always loomed large in my vision
bearing the weight of untold burdens in stoic silence;
never shifting nor trembling under the unyielding demands of life, family and the sacrifices that needed to be made.
In those enduring shoulders,
I caught a glimpse of Atlas himself and I could sense the titanic strength my father, who carried his world without complaint or pause.

Now, as an adult, I stand taller than my revered father.
I see the world from a new vantage point and
my eyes, once filled with innocent wonder now glow with a refined yet fragile understanding.
My father still stands as a rock and a pillar in my world
yet now, i see the change wrought by the passing of time
I see the slight stoop to his back, the softened edges of once hard muscles
and the weariness etched deep into the lines on his back
sadness grips my heart and i ache for the figure of invincibility that he struck in the past
Yet, those same shoulders bear their old burdens still, proud and strong
If there is one thing time has done for me, it has brought me closer
in understanding and in strength to my father
And though i can walk beside my father, i chose to walk behind him, if ever so slightly to his left so that i can share the weight he bears
If there is one thing i am grateful for the passage of time, it is that i can ease the load on those steadfast arms and give my father rest in the twilight of his strength.
For all the years that he carried the world upon those shoulders, now it is my turn to share the weight.

I cannot be your Loki,
My shoulders are short,
Unable to shelve your blame,
A scapegoat I won’t be.

I have both guilt and shame,
My wolf and my serpent,
They circle my soul,
And with your scorn, swallow me whole.

Look into your mirror of trials.
Look at yourself and say three times -
Am I to blame for this injustice?
Accountability is why Loki smiles.

Sacrifices
Painful, yet worthy.
Exist in every aspect of life.
As a child,
some fun if health doesn't permit.
As a teenager,
sacrificing extracurriculars to fulfill parents' expectations.
As an adult,
leaving passions to drown in a stressful job in order to lift responsibilities.
As a partner,
sacrificing one’s own wishes to prioritize partner's likes and dislikes.
As a parent,
keeping personal luxuries aside to uplift children happily.
Sacrifices—
even though seem tough to do,
give a sense of calm and content after seeing later results.

As the last of the flowers have withered,
And the guests have washed their clothes,
The cemetery has new bodies to entomb,
I still feel your presence very close.

For every waking morning without you on our side,
Demands a tough facade for every new dawn,
With responsibilities piling our plates,
I still hear your voice guiding us on.

At times where people have seem to forget,
And your space at the table has been quietly replaced,
Things and clothes packed neatly into boxes,
I still recall the warmth of your embrace.

For the world that we know will continue to revolve,
With the sun, the moon, and its skies ever so blue,
Your memory lives on in every piece of me;
I will choose to remember every last piece of you.

Dear _,

I’m writing this more for myself — a bold attempt to  let go of things carried quietly for too long.

Life. It’s hard, harder still when I’m tired, or hurting myself. On these hard days, the feeling of alone superseded the need to show up. But for the pieces of family that still matter to me. — for those who try their best to show up, for the memory of people we miss… In a world made of struggles, I never dare to ask for perfection.

A humble, tearful cry. I don’t want to feel invisible. I selfishly ask for love that means something more than shared dinners once a week.

Dear Diary

                     It’s not my fault

It’s easy to render
Myself a victim
Driven by consequence
                                    
Accountability
Sheds daily
                    Like skin
It silently falls

Perhaps I shall erase
My cuttings of
                    Foregone conclusions

They surround a
Diary full of days
Each encircled
                    By failure of others

Where is the side of me that faked tears but never a smile?
Where is the side of me that lied about having a fever instead of hiding it?
Where is the side of me that poured out every problem instead of carrying them alone?
Where is the side of me that blamed home food instead of craving it?
Where is the side of me that spoke without fear instead of swallowing my words?
Where is the side of me that fought instead of walking away in silence?
Where is the side of me that ran into crowds instead of seeking solitude?
Where is the side of me that answered endless questions instead of questioning my own existence?
Where is the side of me that cried over the smallest things instead of smiling through the pain?


Somewhere along the way, I lost that childhood.
Somewhere, I let its innocence slip through my fingers.
Somewhere, I turned my dreams to ashes and let the Ganga carry them away.
Somewhere, I buried my laughter beneath the weight of expectations.
Somewhere, carefree days turned into sleepless nights.
Somewhere, age and responsibility silenced the child within.
A carefree childhood faded,and a responsible adulthood took its place.
Yet, in the quiet corners of my heart ,that child still knocks, still whispers, still waits...

Hoping, one day, I will open the door again.

But how can I tell that the door will never open again?
How can I tell that the path has closed
forever?
How can I tell that it all came to an end long ago?

There once was from Mount Disappointment
A fella who lubed with some ointment
     A patch of dry skin
     Till he sinned a gross sin
And missed an important appointment.