What A Poetic Way

3 Sep

Each night that you came home,

I called you Papa/Daddy; Papa/Donkey,

You used to call me your piglet, little monkey.

You used to lift me up so high, my happy faced Pa,

And then we’d go watch Mowgli, Bagheera and Kaa.

You’d snuggle me and cuddle me,

And play koti-kusti, give me koti-kissy,

And tell me I was your pretty little missy.

And I’d watch Tom and Jerry, and then propose,

“Daddy, possibly can I snip off your Ear? Or your Nose?”

You always got me whatever I wanted,

When I was five, you got me a white kitten,

Badepapa was horrified, even though I was smitten,

“Your Papa really spoils you”, Badimummy would say,

You’d shrug and whisper, “While the sun shines make hay!”

Hay was made, and the sun shone bright,

But one day it was over, and I just had to grow up,

You grumbled to yourself, some insolent, snotty lil pup,

Will have his paws all over my piglet, and I’ll have to make jest,

You told yourself quietly, by my daughter, I’ll just have to do my best.

You did do your best Daddy, your bestest best,

You married me off, to a sweet funny man, with good hair,

To boot, and who jokes and who smiles like he doesn’t have a care,

A happy guy with a face that lights up, with silly small crinkles in his smile,

Who makes everyone around him laugh, loving me so much all the while.

I thought my life was perfect, I had my two very best guys,

Beside me, while walking up the hairpin turns of Dhoopgarh hill, till,

Till I snapped around and saw you, chest heaving, eyes turning, breathe still.

I said “Breathe Papa, just breathe!” and held you in my arms, while he went for help.

But you were still, still, gone beyond hope, beyond kittens, beyond sunshine, and beyond help.

What a poetic way to die, for a man who had not time for poetry,

The hour, the time, the people, the light, the wind, the tree and the place,

None would’ve have known that you’re not there, except for the look on your face,

A quiet man if you will, never made a show of things, a good father, a good husband, a good son,

No one will remember what he has done.