Dad, me and a kite

Dad, me and a kite

 

With gratitude to my father

all love, my heart ever harbor

I saw him as a dad most loving

enjoyed he, the time, me, holding

by his armpit and over his shoulder

never fed up with me my anger

with the affection of a unique measure

till I crossed five, it is my treasure.

Perhaps at my age reaching five

he changed pressing me to thrive

in my lessons on slate and book

to my future, he had a distant look

giving me homework, liked I never

punishing me with then stern anger

His caning pain, I will never forget

still on any wrongdoing, the pain I get.

when he went to the city for a day or two

his home tasks I was asked to do

but jump and played I during his absence

did never took mom’s  caution to cogence

But had to pray to the lord in our shrine

to delay dad’s arrival if He is truly divine.

Dwell here I his way of teaching me

“Demonstrating  me on a kite flying spree.”

At the letter “K” I was shown a picture

it was a kite a tool for flying pleasure.

Perhaps dad promised a demonstration

with practical example to his loving son

for his clear conception of a playing tool

making it playful to read and to go to school.

Brought from the city, a kite-colored red

with a roller and long white thread.

Took me to fields harvested and free

close to the river bank with no tree

with small bushes of small height

on the river, bank suiting to fly a kite.

Dad took me there with a kite ready to fly

asked me about the tricks I should keep an eye on.

Lo, behold! The kite went high and high

releasing the thread dad asked me to look at the sky

The thread got strangulated and got cut

the thread of kite the thorny bush caught

From the bush hold, dad released the kite

tried to Knott with the kite flying at height.

The flying kite flew off with its thread hanging

I saw over the uneven field dad was running

after the thread to Knott to teach me

eluded it him, helpless dad I could piteously see.

Ran I after dad and kite with fall and rise

burnishing my knees later to my mom’s sighs.

Failed my dad to hold and reknot for his son

But Dad to me it was a befitting demonstration

your love and helplessness taught me more

that flying a kite on ground cannot score.

I saw in your heart, love for me your son

under the guise of your anger for me your affection.

For many kites, you had run to make me thrive

You are my guru and guide to enable me to strive.

.

 

In the service of Lord

P K Routray